


war is over (if you want it)

by dramaturgicallycorrect



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (sort of), Flashbacks, M/M, Original Character Death(s), POV Alternating, POV Liam, POV Louis, Vietnam Era, Vietnam War, background zerrie, it is sad but i promise there are at least seven jokes, mentions of ptsd suicide and period-typical homophobia, that makes this sound really sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-16 21:52:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 114,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3504056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaturgicallycorrect/pseuds/dramaturgicallycorrect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s a long walk home from the rest area where the last semi-truck left Louis to fend for himself on the highway. But Louis only half-heartedly juts his thumb out for a hitch whenever a rare car passes him. He thinks maybe his lips are turning blue, but this snow is truly nothing compared to a Canadian winter. He shifts his canvas duffle from shoulder to shoulder on occasion but otherwise he doesn’t mind the walk. He can only depend on the kindness of strangers for so long before his luck is bound to turn on him.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>This trip is a pilgrimage. It’s his right. He’s earned his trip home. The war is long over and a new dawn is coming, Louis can feel it. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>[Or a Vietnam Era AU where Louis and Liam fell in and out of love, Liam went to war and back, and Louis ran to Canada and back.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 16, 1976

**Author's Note:**

> The hella bitchin chapter heading artwork and sweet sweet tune playlist [found here](http://8tracks.com/spangledhellcat/war-is-over) is courtesy of [mozartspiano](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/mozartspiano), who gets me, you know. Couldn’t have asked for anything or anyone better in this collaboration. I love them and I hope you do too!
> 
> In the interest of truthiness: This fic needed at least an extra year’s worth of research that I couldn’t give to it and I hate that. There are likely glaring mistakes, most especially about the military, but at least I found out that they had answering machines in 1976. Everyone’s ages are wrong on purpose and Liam’s parents aren’t Liam’s parents. And everybody who’s an asshole or who dies in this fic is an original character.
> 
> Standard disclaimer: All of this is fiction. So much fiction. Probably the only thing real about this is they had answering machines in 1976, and I can’t even confirm that personally.

_(The River - Joni Mitchell)_

* * *

_December 16, 1976_

It’s a long walk home from the rest area where the last semi-truck left Louis to fend for himself on the highway. But Louis only half-heartedly juts his thumb out for a hitch on the rare occasion a car passes him. He thinks maybe his lips are turning blue but this snow is truly nothing compared to a Canadian winter. In his brief time up in northern Canada, he’d shoveled snow until his hands bled and then shoveled some more, he’d nearly lost a toe to frostbite. This is nothing.

He shifts his canvas duffle from shoulder to shoulder on occasion but otherwise he doesn’t mind the walk. Eventually he gives up on the idea of hitching altogether. He can only depend on the kindness of strangers for so long before his luck is bound to turn on him.

He’s earned his trip home. It’s a pilgrimage. It’s his right. The war is long over and a new dawn is coming, Louis can feel it.

He's a nomad by nature now. Some had been able to settle down, utilize the resources available to them from the Canadian government, and make a new home. Louis couldn't do it so he kept moving from city to city, job to job. Making a home was permanent, like putting down roots, but Louis already had roots. He couldn’t put more roots down in a place he didn’t belong.

Louis misses his home -- he’s built it up into something majestic and untouchable in his mind these last seven years. A place that’s warm and inviting and full of love and good smells and the thundering of small feet.

The main road into town still has the same welcome sign. From underneath the dusting of snow, he is welcomed to Marquette, population 18,594, the same number as when he left. He knows nobody ever seems to leave this town voluntarily, but also he knows there must be some sort of change, whether it be casualties of war or casualties of time. Maybe they all think it's better this way, pretending nothing ever changes.

The nostalgia hits him hard, nearly bowls him over, when he reaches the main drag. The toy store where he’d spent a summer or two working during high school. The hardware store where he’d gotten caught nicking a shovel when he’d broken his mom’s. The bar where he’d sometimes swindle free drinks out of drunken old barflies who couldn’t tell whether he was of age or not (he never was). They all remind him of happier days.

Buildings are decorated with an infinite number of Christmas twinkle lights. This is how the world should always look, quietly cheerful.

At the sight of a police cruiser driving down the opposite side of the road, Louis tugs his knitted hat down further on his head. Between the unwashed mop of hair and his best attempt at a winter beard and the ratty clothing, he probably looks close to homeless, practically unrecognizable to anyone who might have known him before. Beyond that, he knows enough about life to know all the traces of youth have left him years ago. He looks sharper and feels sharper. He knows his looks can cut because that’s the kind of person he’s had to become very quickly in order to survive.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the police cruiser turn around in the street. He groans. There’s nowhere he can escape to easily. The only thing open at this time of night is the bar and he’s not there yet. The cruiser slows to a crawl next to him.

“Do you need some help?” asks the officer after he reaches over to crank open the passenger window.

“I know where I’m going, thanks,” Louis grunts.

“Where’s that?”

“Horan’s,” he answers, pointing up at the bar, just a few doors away.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you before,” the cop says. What, does this cop have a picture perfect memory of all 18,594 people in this town?

“I live on Doncaster Way,” Louis answers, his mom’s address. He’s probably stupid to give out this much information when he’s supposed to be keeping a low profile. At least the mention of a local street seems to put the cop at a little more ease.

“All right. Have a good evening,” the cop says and drives away slowly, stopping at the next red light.

Louis figures the officer’s watching, so he ducks into Horan’s anyway, if only for a brief respite from the cold. He stamps the snow off his feet on the mat by the door.

“Fucking hell,” shouts a voice from the bar. Louis looks up, but the three people at the bar -- it’s slow, it’s Thursday -- aren’t looking at him.

The source comes flying out from behind the counter, a young man in a wheelchair. His flashing blue eyes and bright smile could only belong to Niall Horan. Some things never change. Other things do, like his hair, which is no longer bleached blond but his natural brown. And his legs, which no longer number two.

He’s been to war. Niall, unassuming, lively Niall went to war and came back broken. The thought makes Louis sick. He can’t stare too long at the small stump of Niall’s left leg resting in a half-empty pant leg before wanting to destroy something. He wrenches his eyes back up to Niall’s face.

“Louis fucking Tomlinson, as I live and breathe,” he cheers, pushing himself to where Louis is frozen at the door.

“Niall,” Louis croaks. “God, it’s so good to see you.”

“Get in here, you bastard,” he says with his arms outstretched for a hug. Louis hesitates as he considers the logistics of hugging a seated person, which Niall seems to recognize. “It’s going to be awkward, just let it happen.” He wiggles his fingers invitingly.

Louis bends over and wraps his arms around Niall’s torso as Niall flings his arms around Louis’ neck. It is awkward, but the feeling of comfort overwhelms any awkwardness. Niall’s hugs had always seemed on the border of desperate, tight clutches that attempted to transmit the sincerity and the love he felt for the person he hugged.

Louis feels everything seeping into him through this hug. He feels missed. Niall doesn’t want to let go, let Louis go, like he doesn’t trust that Louis will stay. Louis doesn’t trust himself to stay either. He’s not that kind of person anymore, no matter how much he thinks he deserves to come home.

“Welcome back,” Niall says as he finally untangles himself from Louis. “Can I get you a pint?”

“Sounds great,” Louis says, following Niall over to the bar. His duffle hits the floor with a flump that shakes one drowsy patron from whatever fugue state he’d been in. The patron grumbles and stares at Louis, which Louis ignores.

Niall scoots around the bar area easily enough to pour him a pint of a local brew. Louis lifts up from his wobbly barstool precariously to meet Niall’s hand with the proffered pint halfway before settling back down.

“You look like shit,” Niall remarks, which is true enough.

“That’s a fair point, but you can go fuck yourself. You look shorter,” Louis snaps with humor, although he’s not sure they’re still at a point in their basically nonexistent friendship to banter. Thankfully Niall barks with laughter, just like he used to.

“I’ve also gotten lazier,” Niall jokes. “So. What brings you back?”

Louis doesn’t know, if he’s going to be honest with himself. He just found himself headed this way, something inside him telling him it was time to go home. It’s been a year and a half since the fall of Saigon.

Or maybe it was the sight of another Christmas coming, and a Christmas without home isn’t much of a Christmas, after all.

“Felt like it,” Louis decides to say with a shrug.

“Typical Tommo,” Niall says with a smile and a shake of his head.

The nickname stings, it’s been years and years since he’s heard it, and he’s not sure he wants it back. He’s not that person anymore.

“How’s your mom?”

“I haven’t seen her yet,” Louis admits, “I was on my way home.”

Niall’s eyes widen and the smile slips off his face. “You came here first?”

“Not intentionally,” Louis says, but Niall talks over him.

“You gotta go. If she finds out she wasn’t first, she’ll skin me alive. Get the fuck out,” Niall says, but with some measure of fondness.

“I’ve only got Canadian.” Louis pulls his sad excuse for a wallet from the depths of his winter coat. He wishes he’d had more than two sips of the pint, which is doing wonders for warming his icy bones.

“Put that shit away. Call me tomorrow, your mom has my number.”

Louis feels ushered to the door, Niall practically nipping at his heels. His brain is brimming with a thousand questions to ask him, but he lets it be.

“I’ll come back,” Louis says.

“Of course you will,” Niall replies as the door closes behind Louis and he’s smacked in the face with the biting cold once more. The police cruiser is nowhere to be seen.

He takes his time walking the rest of the way home, past the nice neighborhoods, past the high school and the football field where he spent so much time not playing football. By the time it occurs to him to call and give his mom notice of his arrival, he’s past any payphones.

He walks into his neighborhood, which lies just on the cusp of Marquette proper, and finds it suitably dressed with snowmen (both real and fake) and giant plastic Santas and more Christmas lights than the city had.

The familiar line of houses -- identical to each other besides a few minor differences in the façade -- take Louis back to his childhood instantly. He can practically see himself bicycling down the street or pulling a Radio Flyer wagon full of his little sisters in lazy circles.

Nothing ever changes, except everything does.

His confidence drains at the sight of his front door. There are no cars in the unshoveled driveway. A single light can barely be seen through the curtained living room window and Louis knows from the level of brightness that it’s the kitchen light.

The thought that this might not be his home anymore only occurs to him just then. He almost turns away -- it’d be easy enough to slip back out of town and no one would be the wiser. Except Niall, but maybe Niall would think Louis was just a ghost.

His shaking hand knocks lightly on the door anyway, not really hard enough to alert the whole house of his presence. Almost as if he wants the excuse of no one answering the door so he has reason to turn back.

The door opens and his mother, done up in her robe and pajamas with a mug of tea in hand, stands on the other side. She can’t have checked through the peephole beforehand because even Louis would not have opened the door for himself in this state.

Neither of them seem aware of anything but each other until the mug shatters onto the floor, shaking them out of their reverie.

“My Louis,” she says at last, throwing her arms around him and crashing into him.

“Careful,” he mutters, pulling her away from the ceramic shards but unable to let her go. She can’t seem to stop repeating his name with her face pressed into his uncomfortable, coarse jacket. “Shh, ma. Hey.”

He pulls her away finally to give her a small smile. The sight of it pushes more tears down her cheek. She raises a hand to rest on the side of his face, a move that grounds both of them. “You came home,” she says.

“I came home,” he repeats because he’s not sure he can give her anything else. “Can I come in?”

“Oh,” she says, her face finally brightening as she realizes they are still suspended in the doorway. She takes a small step before adding, “I’ll get something for the mug.”

“No, please,” Louis says, setting his duffle down by the door. He moves swiftly into the kitchen, retrieving a dish towel from the drawer next to the sink and the small broom and dustpan from the corner of the pantry. The instinctiveness of the actions, the inherent knowledge of the items' locations, almost knocks him over. He feels his mother’s eyes watching him closely as he cleans up the mess, but it’s not the critical eye he’s used to receiving in instances like this, but something much softer.

“The floor’s a little sticky, needs a mop,” Louis assesses as he deposits the shards in the trashcan in the pantry.

“It’ll wait,” his mom answers and Louis begins rinsing out the stained towel in the sink. All of this can wait, but he can’t bring himself to stop moving. If he loads himself with activities, maybe they can bypass the reunion and everything messy that comes with it.

His mother knows, though -- she always knows, he can’t keep anything from her -- so she doesn’t press anything. “Do you want to take your coat off?” she asks lightly.

“Right,” Louis says with a shake of his head at himself. He peels his coat off, also removing his hat and stuffing it in a pocket. His mom takes it and wanders away to stash it in the hall closet. He makes the two of them fresh cups of tea from the pot still sitting on the stove.

He catalogues the rest of the kitchen: teapot is new, wallpaper the same, appliances the same, one new non-matching chair for the cramped kitchen table, new clock on the wall by the same old rotary phone, a calendar nailed to the wall that hasn’t been flipped since September.

“The girls are upstairs sleeping. We should leave them until morning,” she says, leaning against the refrigerator.

Louis can’t help but wonder if he’s paranoid at this point, but he always seems to hear an unspoken _if you’re staying_ at the end each sentence he hears. He nods at her. “Dad?”

“He left. Four years ago.”

Louis feels a little like he could collapse right there. Instead he gathers his mom up for her a hug this time, hoping he passes the apology he can’t vocalize through the hug. He feels gutted by the loss, but it’s too late in the evening and his emotions have been running high all night. He can’t think about his father for too long without wanting to fall apart, so he buries his feelings deep.

“I’m all right,” she says as she finishes the hug. “I’ve got a new one. He might be a keeper.” The way she smirks at him lets him know she means it. He sure is her son, all right.

“I want to meet him. You’ll need my seal of approval.”

“Of course, darling, first thing.” She messes a little with his hair even though it’s a lost cause at this point. They sip tea in silence. “Tired?”

“Down to my bones.” Until this point he’s been running on pure adrenaline, propelled forward, kept awake by the desire to just reach home. Now that he’s done it, he feels about ready to pass out.

“Shower first,” she demands. “You can take Lottie’s bed, she’s moved into your old room.”

“Where is she?”

“Gone to college.”

He feels pride surge within. Lottie was always far smarter than he was, and he refused to go to college if it meant his parents couldn’t afford to send her. Not that that had been what he’d told his parents then, to save them the embarrassment.

His mom sends him upstairs while she cleans the rest of the dishes. The framed photos on the wall that lines the staircase are arranged by age -- at the base of the stairs are small black and whites of Louis as a kid, transitioning to encompass more baby pictures of his four sisters as they came along. Louis’ presence becomes scarcer the higher he walks, the line of photos ending in a fairly recent-looking family portrait. The portrait unnerves him, though it shouldn’t; it’s like a picture of four strangers and his mom. Lottie and Fizz look relatively close to their young selves, but Phoebe and Daisy, who couldn’t have been more than three when he left, are practically unrecognizable at nine or ten.

He shuffles away from the picture, taking a fresh towel from the linen closet in the hall into the bathroom.

The shower feels better than Louis can really put into words. It’s hot, for one, and there’s actual water pressure instead of a light trickle with all the power and breadth of a stream of urine.

His old room is caught in a transition stage between Louis and Lottie. Half of his decorations still line parts of the wall: clippings from newspapers and magazines and the few black and white polaroids he has of his friends and family stuck on with yellowing tape. Lottie has taped a few posters on the wall over Louis’ things, including a particularly provocative one of Paul Newman. But sitting in its place of honor, undisturbed if not dusty, is a framed copy of _Showcase #4_ signed by Robert Kanigher.

Louis wants to take it down.

His mom pokes her head into Lottie’s room when he is settling into her twin bed for the night. The scene feels too overwhelmingly familiar and Louis feels sixteen all over again.

“Good night, love,” she says.

“Good night, ma.”

“It’s nice to have you home.”

Louis nods, thinking he might agree. It is nice. For now. As long as he can keep busy, keep his mind off thinking too hard about all of the factors he should have considered before showing up in this town.

Things seem to have calmed down, though. No one is really calling for harsh justice to be laid on deserters anymore. He knows the consequences; they were advertised well enough: imprisonment or forced service. He’d had so many nightmares of going to sleep safe in his bed and waking up in a truck being carted off to basic so he could learn to kill or be killed. He’d worried about what would have become of him. Even in Canada the rumors reached him, stories told in hushed tones about soldiers who had come back all cracked up, who had come back in one piece, but only physically.

And Louis knows about the things that weren’t rumors. After over a year of the Army being able to keep it under wraps, news of the massacre at My Lai hit the papers just weeks before he had received his draft notice. Louis couldn’t be party to that. He couldn’t let either of them be party to that. They had made plans to leave together, almost seven years ago to this day, but Louis found his way on the road alone. He had been left alone.

Louis refuses to think about it. He buries his memories deep where they belong and he clears his mind as easily as he closes his eyes to sleep. It’s a skill he wishes he didn’t have.

\--


	2. August 29, 1967

_(I Want to Hold Your Hand - The Beatles)_

* * *

_August 29, 1967_

Liam doesn’t stop running until he feels like he’s burning in every inch of his body, from the inside out. His arms and legs and lungs have to pump until they can’t anymore, and then Liam can give himself a rest. He wonders if this technique might be unhealthy -- he’s not sure, he’s never actually been taught how to run. His school’s idea of physical education is setting twenty kids loose in a field with some supplies to fend for themselves until forty-five minutes have passed.

Liam thinks too much, is the problem. He knows it’s not deep thinking, he knows he’s not going to change the world if he decides to tell anyone what's going on in his brain. But nonetheless, he’s always thinking.

He doesn't want to think too much, so he runs to shed everything. Every footfall shakes loose every worry he has about school, every comment in the hallway he pretends he doesn't hear from the people who hated him in junior high and still hate him, every moment of anxiety he has when he looks at the future and sees nothing there. They fall to the floor and he tramples over them fresh every time he makes another loop around the track.

He runs until there is nothing going on up top and his body is on fire.

It's early, several hours before school is even a passing thought in the back of most students' minds. He runs while he can until winter freezes the track and the snow cancels out the burn.

Today there's a trespasser. Technically Liam is also a trespasser, as students aren't allowed on campus this early, but this young man with hair in his face and a soccer ball under his arm is trespassing on Liam's alone time.

The kid starts lazily running the ball up and down the field. There are no goals because their school has no soccer team because nobody actually likes soccer or plays soccer or cares about soccer. Liam is pretty certain he's never seen a soccer ball outside of the sporting goods store before.

Liam tears his eyes away from watching the kid go, but not for long. The kid is quick on his feet, dodging the imaginary opposing team swiftly before launching a tremendous play for the goal that isn't there.

The ball soars over in Liam's direction. “Watch out!” the soccer player shouts, waving his hand, but the ball isn't going to hit Liam or even come near him.

The ball connects with the ground a few yards ahead of Liam on the track and goes rolling off, so Liam veers to collect it, wiping the sweat stuck hair from his forehead as he goes. He pulls the ball out of the small pit of mud to the right of the bleachers and gives it a good wipe, not doing much but smearing the mud.

“Over here!” the kids shouts and Liam stares. He thinks kicking it is not a good idea as he's never kicked a ball before and it could be a fresh new embarrassment to suffer. He settles for tossing it, arcing over his head, and sending it flying in the direction of the boy on the field. The boy beams as he watches the trajectory and backs up a little to adjust himself to connect his chest with the ball, mud trailing down his white shirt, and send it down to the ground.

“Thanks!” he chirps at Liam, who just waves and puts himself back on track.

He doesn't know how long he runs because he doesn't bring a watch, but he always finishes well before the first students bleed into the parking lots. When he's done, he makes for the gate to take a quick shower in the locker room.

He doesn't see the kid with the soccer ball hovering around the gate until he's nearly on top of him. Liam thinks for a fleeting moment the kid is waiting for him, but he tosses that thought aside quickly. People don't wait for Liam, Liam waits for people.

“What are you running from?” the kid says and it stops Liam in his tracks.

“I’m just running?” Liam answers.

The kid shakes his head. “That was not Just Running.” He points back out at the track and Liam actually turns to look, as though he was going to see the ghost of himself still out there trying to catch fire.

Liam just shrugs. There's no way anyone can read what he's doing out there, it should just look like exercise, but this kid's sharp blue eyes look like they're trying their best to read his thoughts. He's unnerved.

“See you around, I guess,” Liam says and moves around him.

“Wait,” the kid says, putting a hand to Liam's bicep. That's a strange and personal move and Liam isn't sure he likes it. The kid doesn't seem to notice. “What's your name?”

“Uh. Liam?”

His eyebrows pop up in surprise. “Are you asking me?”

Liam flushes red, but the kid is smiling and it looks good on him. “Yeah,” he says, taking a rare risk to joke. “How do you like it?  Do you think it suits me?”

“It's a very good name.”

“I'll tell my mom,” Liam says, gently removing himself from the boy's grasp. After his initial contact, Liam had all but forgotten he left his hand there. He makes a gesture for the general area of the locker room.

“See you around, Uh-Liam,” the kid says to his retreating back.

Liam doesn’t realize until halfway through his shower he didn’t ask for the other boy’s name.

Of course he doesn’t see him that morning. He looks for him everywhere, checking hallways as low key as he can as he goes from the locker room to his locker in the atrium. He flicks his eyes back and forth as he kneels to fish his geometry book out. He peeks into the small windows on the classroom doors as he passes them, even though he knows he probably wouldn’t go in if he saw the kid anyway. He doesn’t even understand why he cares so much.

He settles into his seat in his first class, third row, fourth seat back, not by choice but by assignment. The teacher, a perpetually overwhelmed looking woman named Mrs. Free, half-heartedly settles down the room before morning announcements are croaked through the speaker system by the school secretary.

Liam knows what’s coming, he ducks down further into his seat as if he could escape it by slouching.

“Good morning, Marquette High, today is Tuesday, August 29,” crackles the voice. “Please keep in mind the school sign is not a viable canvas for art projects. Any students found vandalizing the sign will be reprimanded accordingly.”

The blond boy next to him barks laughter so loud Liam jumps in surprise before Mrs. Free hisses at the two of them. He catches Liam peeking at him and sends him a wink. Liam doesn’t think he’s ever seen a boy with bleached hair. Only girls bleach their hair.

“Please join us in wishing a happy birthday to the following students,” the secretary announces, not bothering to affect an air of celebration, “Tabitha Morris and Liam Payne. Today in the cafeteria, we are serving salisbury steaks…”

A few of the students glance over at Liam, but say nothing. He’s surprised any of them have taken the time to remember his name. He fixes his glance firmly to the little square that someone has etched into the wood of his desk.

Mrs. Free, unfortunately, seems to realize Liam is in her class when she looks at her roster and insists that he wear the Birthday Sombrero for the rest of class. His face burns about as red as the tassels hanging off the edge of the Birthday Sombrero, but he accepts his punishment with quiet dignity. He’s never actually hated a human before, he doesn’t think, but Mrs. Free, with her face like a disappointed bullfrog and her stupid Birthday Sombrero... she might win the honor being first in hatred.

He rips the hat off as soon as the bell chimes to release them from class. He gathers his books and hands the sombrero back to Mrs. Free. Liam exits the classroom to find the blond kid leaning up against the wall by the door. Liam wishes he could remember the kid’s name, that’d make life a lot less awkward since the kid seems to be waiting for him. However, learning the names of classmates involves slightly more interaction than Liam generally wants to engage in.

“Liam, it’s your birthday, why didn’t you say anything?” the blond kid asks.

 _Because I have no idea who you are_ , Liam does not say. Instead he sort of blinks at the kid and apologizes. He actually says sorry. He’s not even sure what he’s apologizing for.

The blond kid just laughs again, that same startling bark. “Are you doing anything special for it?” He pushes himself from the wall and the two start walking down the hallway together.

Liam thinks about the small pile of handmade invitations that sit at the bottom of his locker, the ones that cordially invite all of Liam’s favorite people to a small birthday dinner his family is having later tonight. The invitations are likely to hit the trash before the end of the school day. He’d rather invite no one instead of inviting people and waiting around to confirm what he knows is going to happen anyway -- no one will come.

“My parents are having a thing for me tonight, just a dinner, it’s nothing,” Liam says anyway, apparently unable to lie to this kid with the open face and earnest eyes.

“We might swing by, that sounds like fun,” the kid says. “You’re on Wolverhampton, right?”

Liam hesitates. “Yes.” _How do you know_ , Liam does not say.

“I’ve been to one of Ruth’s parties,” he answers anyway, reading the question Liam’s probably not hiding very well. “That’s a wild night.”

His sisters’ parties, he knows of them, he fears them, he stays locked in his room during them, he cleans up after them because he knows his sisters won’t do a good enough job to keep their parents in the dark.

The kid pats Liam’s cheek, which is strange, right? People don’t do that. “I’ll see you later, Liam,” he says, breaking off to go down the west corridor.

“Okay,” Liam says dumbly before realizing he’s about to make the same mistake again. “Hey wait!” he shouts after the kid.

“Yeah?” the kid shouts back, backing away facing Liam, not bothering with an occasional cursory glance behind him to see if he’ll hit anyone.

“I’m really sorry. What’s your name?”

“It’s Niall,” he laughs and waves goodbye.

He spends the remainder of the walk to his next class thinking over the conversation. Niall said, “ _We_ might swing by,” Liam realizes, and his stomach drops a little. What if he thinks this is one of Ruth’s parties? And he thinks he can just bring a bunch of people over and expect… alcohol and things? Liam had said his parents are hosting a dinner, he’s sure of it.

He’s vaguely aware of getting nudged -- or possibly shoved -- aside just as he’s paused outside his classroom door by Mike Laraby who says, “Watch it, birthday boy.” Liam ignores him and ambles forward into his classroom, peeking to see if Niall’s there, even though they walked different directions.

This bothers him the rest of the day, especially considering he doesn’t see Niall again. It’s not a big school, he can’t have lost the kid already. He sweats about what he’s going to tell his parents the entire bus ride home and decides he’s going to say nothing.

He’s glad he stayed quiet, though, when dinner comes and goes and no one else comes or goes, it’s just Liam and his parents having a quiet evening with too much meatloaf and a birthday cake that’ll take the three of them at least two weeks to finish off by themselves. His mom and dad try not to look disappointed on his behalf, but Liam isn’t bothered.

“It’s not right,” his dad says. “A boy should have friends.”

Liam ducks his head and mumbles, “Yes, sir,” even though he’s not entirely sure if it’s a criticism of himself or of the entire Marquette High student body.

He reads through the birthday letters that Nicola and Ruth sent him. He usually read them as soon as he received them, but his mom found out and said, “Birthday letters are for your birthday,” and started hiding them since.

His sisters individually apologized for not being there -- Nicola got married out of high school to a guy making it big in the grocery store industry and moved to Nebraska four years ago and Ruth was away training to be a nurse. Nicola sent him twenty dollars and Ruth sent him a condom, both an embarrassment of riches which he pocketed quickly and discretely, with a face again as red as Mrs. Free’s Birthday Sombrero.

God, he hates that Birthday Sombrero.

His parents get him new pajamas, a matching navy blue set. His mom says, “You look good in blue.”

Liam says, “Who’s going to see me?”

When they ask him what else he’d like to do for his birthday, Liam says he’s got a lot of homework to do, so they leave him to sit at the kitchen table to copy vocabulary words from his science book into his composition book and they disappear to their room.

At some point the doorbell rings, and Liam is half-asleep trying unsuccessfully to correctly write “sodium bicarbonate”. He glances over at the novelty cat clock suspended over the telephone. It’s a little after nine, well after appropriate calling hours. He’s long since changed into his new pajamas, but he answers the door anyway.

It’s Niall. And the kid from the track this morning.

In his surprise, Liam closes the door in their faces.

“Ohnononono,” he mumbles to himself, leaning back against the door as if he’s bracing it in case they decide to open it themselves. He can hear Niall howling with laughter.

There’s a light knock on the door, barely audible over the sound of Niall’s laughter, and a small voice says, “Liam, what are you running from?”

Liam scrubs his face with his hands before pulling the door back open. “I’m sorry,” he says, but he feels like it gets lost in the chaos of the pair pushing themselves inside without waiting for an invitation.

“Happy birthday!” crows Niall, throwing his hands in the air as he walks further into the house.

 _I don't think I'm allowed to have company this late_ , Liam does not say.

Liam and the soccer kid stand by the door and stare at each other. He’s so aware that he’s wearing pajamas and this kid is wearing a grey sweater over his jeans and he looks nice and Liam looks like an idiot. Liam can’t stop repeating in his head, _it’s him, he’s here, it’s him, he’s in my house_. He worries he’s thinking about him so furiously, the words are going to fly out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“We didn’t get you a present, but in fairness, you gave us awfully short notice,” the boy says with a smile.

“I’m sorry,” Liam repeats, which doesn’t make any sense.

“Nice pajamas. Blue is your color,” the kid says and Liam’s mouth probably drops.

“Cake!” Niall announces, his voice echoing a little like voices do in the kitchen.

“Ah. Niall has a sixth sense about cake,” the boy says, nodding his head in the direction of Niall’s voice. He sounds a little apologetic, but mostly amused.

“Cake sonar,” Liam adds, which prompts a delighted laugh from the boy. He leads the two of them to the kitchen, where Niall is leaned over the counter. He carefully lifts the lid to reveal the cake -- homemade, chocolate decorated, a small corner missing but the words _Happy Birthday, Liam_ are still visible. Niall reaches into the sink where the serving knife was left earlier.

The boy slaps the top of Niall’s hand and censures, “What did we say about knives?”

“Don’t touch them,” says Niall, ducking his head and holding the knife out.

“Two weeks ago, Niall nearly took a finger off with his excitement,” the boy explains to Liam, who nods, even though it’s just a blunt serving knife and actually not capable of severing fingers. Liam does not point this out. The first slice is carefully cut and served onto the plate Liam provides them. Niall makes a reach for it, but the boy holds it away. “The birthday boy gets the first slice, Niall.”

The slice of cake slides in front of Liam, who says, “I’ve already had some, thank you.”

Nobody seems to care as two more pieces of cake are procured and served. The boy and Niall spring into a rousing addition of the happy birthday song, loud and bright and completely off key. Liam laughs into the hands that cover his face in embarrassment.

“Liam?” says his mom’s voice, and the three boys go silent and whip around to see her standing at the entryway into the kitchen. She looks confused, but not concerned, so Liam figures she’s not upset. Still the anxiety starts creeping in and his stomach starts to twist.

“Mom,” Liam starts, but the boy interrupts.

“Mrs. Payne,” he says warmly, walking over and reaching for her hand. Her face folds into a small smile as they clasp hands. “I’m Louis, it’s an _honor_ to meet you.”

Louis. Louuuueeee. It suits him.

Niall throws his own name out with a wave. Liam’s mom looks between the three of them and her smile grows. Liam can just imagine her about to burst with uncharacteristic excitement. _My Liam has friends_.

“You boys are here a little late,” she says. “School night.”

“I’m sorry we were so tardy to Liam’s celebration, but we couldn’t miss it,” Louis says smoothly. “We won’t stay long.”

 _You won’t_? Liam doesn’t say.

“Not a problem. Have a good night.” She kisses Liam on the forehead and shuffles back toward her room.

“I’m sorry,” Liam says for the hundredth time tonight.

“Why?” Niall says over his mouthful of cake.

“I’m... not sure.” That’s just his go-to response because more often than not he _has_ done something wrong. He just likes to stay ahead of the game.

“Don’t apologize so much,” Louis says.

“I’ll try,” Liam promises because now he is making promises to strangers in his kitchen at 9.30 at night on his birthday.

He wonders why he isn’t bothered more by their intrusion. He finds this kind of thrilling, really, about as close as he’s going to get to a real life adventure. Thrust into the unknown land of shared birthday cake with two kids who have spoken more kind words to him today than probably anyone has in the last three years of junior high school.

Unless they’re here for a different reason. People just aren’t nice for no reason. He doesn’t want this to be one more way he’s made fun of. This sort of thing at school is fine, but it’s quite another thing entirely to bring it into his home. To mock him in front of his parents.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Louis says, snaking out a hand to catch the one of Liam’s that doesn’t have a fork. Liam stares at the contact, feels a little jolted by it. He’s not sure what to do with it, so he just lets it happen. Just like he’s letting everything else happen.

Liam nearly apologizes again, but he settles for shrugging his shoulders instead, which causes his hand to move a little where it rests underneath Louis’. Louis squeezes their hands once before letting go.

“Niall here was telling me that you are spectacularly gifted at math,” Louis says.

“Niall lied,” Liam answers, trying desperately to read these boys, and he is relieved when Niall barks a laugh.

“We can set you up with Zayn, he’s great at math,” Louis says easily.

“That’s very kind.” He has no idea who Zayn is.

“You should find us during lunch, we eat at the bleachers. You are acquainted with the bleachers,” Louis says with a wink before turning to Niall. “This kid runs faster than the Flash.”

Niall nods, impressed. Liam breaks into a smile and gets far more excited than is probably warranted in this situation. “I love comic books,” he gushes before he can stop himself.

“I just started reading this series called _The Amazing Spider-Man_ ,” Louis says and Liam feels validated, “it’s _amazing_ , it’s about this guy who is both a spider _and_ a man.”

“I’d love to read that,” Liam says, unable to stop sounding so earnest.

“I’ll bring the first issue for you tomorrow if you promise to guard it with your life,” Louis says, dropping his voice into a very serious tone.

Liam matches him. “I would consider its protection my solemn duty.”

“I expect nothing less of Barry Allen’s successor.” Louis leans in over the counter, closer to Liam, almost right up in his face. Liam leans forward as well, instead of away like he’s trained himself to do. He doesn’t mention anything about preferring Wally West like he wants to.

“Don’t worry, Liam Payne, I’ll keep your true identity a secret,” Louis continues, almost in a whisper, and Liam nods like he’s grateful, like he needs help keeping his identity a secret when in fact that is the very thing Liam is best at in the entire world. He’s great at being anonymous.

“Central City thanks you,” Liam answers.

It isn’t until Niall’s plate and fork clink into the sink that Liam even remembers there’s a third person there. He straightens up with an apologetic look to Niall, who doesn’t seem bothered.

“Do you play?” Louis asks and Liam follows his eyes over to the piano sitting by the window in his living room.

“Not very well,” Liam says, which is true enough, but only because he can only practice in the hour and a half he has between getting home from school and his parents getting home from work.

“I doubt that,” Louis decides and moves for the piano, standing in front of it expectantly when he reaches it.

Liam raises his eyebrows at Niall, who just shrugs in a _you better go on_ kind of way. So Liam goes on, shuffles over toward the piano, and claims the bench, surprised a moment later when Louis shoves his way onto the bench next to Liam.

“What do you have?” Louis asks.

“Um,” Liam says and flips through the mess of sheet music in the basket by the pedals. Louis bats Liam’s hand away, sinks his own hand into the pile, and pulls a song at random.

“I’m Looking Through You,” Louis announces.

“I’m not very good at that one.” He’s only played it a couple of times and it’s more of a guitar song, but he likes it so he tries his best.

“Stop saying things like that.”

 _Things like what?_ Liam does not say. Because Louis fixes him with intense eyes that make Liam sort of want to shift away from him.

Liam tears his eyes away from Louis and sets the music up on the stand and plunks out something kind of like the little melody at the beginning of the song. He settles into the song, playing at too slow a tempo, but at least he’s getting the notes right. He works out the melody instead of singing, but almost immediately, Niall picks up the lyrics.

“ _I thought I knew you, what did I know_?” he sings, softly but with a smile.

Liam nearly skips a whole bar in shock when Louis joins Niall with a harmony, quieter and higher and majestic, “ _You don’t look different, but you have changed. I’m looking through you, you’re not the same_.”

Louis drops off at the start of the next verse and Liam mourns the loss. He plays a little stronger though, almost as if finding the correct tempo will tempt Louis back into singing. It doesn’t tempt him, sadly enough, and Liam finishes the song, supporting Niall with his own quiet voice.

“Fucking amazing,” Niall practically shouts and Liam wants to shush him but he doesn’t.

“Delightful,” Louis says, his eyes alight, and Liam can’t look at him for too long without risking a blush. His praise spurs Liam into some form of bravery that allows him to trace his fingers across the keys to find the simple melody he plays to warm up.

“I don’t know this one,” Niall says.

“It’s, uh, it’s just something I play,” Liam says, opening up now and flying through the keys with strength as he complicates the song, mercilessly stomping at the pedals with all he’s got. He flicks his eyes to check in with Louis occasionally, who just smiles down at Liam -- watching his face, not his hands, which is strange -- and Liam continues to find confidence in Louis’ attention.

Until his mom sharply calls, “ _Liam,_ ” from the other side of the room.

Liam’s hands still on the keys instantly, everything about him stills, but she’s going to wait to address the problem until he looks at her. He avoids Niall and Louis’ looks to find her eyes. She doesn’t look angry, just irritated, which he can work with.

“It’s a little loud,” she says, which means it’s very loud, which means he needs to stop instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles so she’ll leave and she does. He replaces the fallboard over the keys, but Louis just flips it back up again.

“You can just play quieter,” Louis says like he doesn’t understand why Liam’s done it.

“No, that’s okay.”

“Oh, go on, you’re good,” Louis insists.

Louis just throws praise around easy, and Liam thinks maybe it could be enough to get him to break the rules and play again. But it’s not. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Louis says with a confused edge to it that makes Liam wince.

“Tommo,” Niall says gently and Liam knows he’s getting an out. He doesn’t like the feeling that Niall is coming to his rescue. But what’s even worse is Liam has ruined the mood of the room.

“We should go,” Louis says suddenly.

 _Please don’t_ , Liam does not say, but there’s not much he can do to salvage this. He had one chance and he’s already blown it. They’re going to think he’s awkward and uncomfortable and they won’t want to talk to him and he’ll have got his hopes up for nothing.

“Thank you for coming,” Liam says, reverting to being a good host, but attempts to keep the melancholiness from his voice. He rises and trades hesitant smiles with both of them.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Niall says, even though he didn’t. It’s a strange little charade they’re all engaged in and none of them want to break it. Liam leads them back to the front door and they hesitate in front of it.

“Happy birthday, Liam,” Louis says and Liam about collapses under the weight of hearing Louis say his name. He tosses a smile at Liam like it’s nothing and pulls the door open for himself. “See you tomorrow?”

“Welcome to the family,” Niall says brightly as he claps a hand to Liam’s shoulder and closes the door behind the two of them.

Liam leans onto the closed door and massages his face for the second time in half an hour. He knows exactly why his heart is pumping, but he takes slow breaths to calm himself down. He’s not panicked or scared or worried. He’s excited. Happy. Relieved, really.

Welcome to the family. It’s just as simple as that?  For once he’s too caught up in _what if this is the start of something amazing_ to worry about everything that could go wrong.

\--


	3. December 17, 1976

_(Handle with Care - Traveling Wilburys)_

* * *

_December 17, 1976_

Louis wakes up to a pair of eyes hovering awfully close to his. As more of the world blinks into focus, it becomes apparent that the eyes are attached to a little girl and that little girl is either Daisy or Phoebe. Louis realizes with a sickening jolt that he’s not so sure he can tell the twins apart anymore.

“Who are you?” she asks, solidifying the ache in Louis’ heart to something that must be permanent.

“Louis,” he answers.

“You don’t look like Louis, we have pictures.”

Louis decides to take a risk. “Well, you don’t look like Phoebe, I changed your diapers.”

She scowls at him and it’s anything but menacing. “I grew up!”

“So did I.”

Phoebe seems satisfied with this response. “Mom says I shouldn’t wake you up but we are having Eggos.”

“Good call. Wouldn’t want to miss Eggos.” Louis sits up and makes a show of stretching his limbs and yawning.

She nods solemnly before flitting from the room. Louis presses his palms into his eyes but it doesn’t do much to stem the tears forming. He shakes himself out quickly before he gets too close to crying. He throws a quick glance to the mirror Lottie suspended on the inside of the door to check for redness before joining his family downstairs.

Phoebe and Daisy are already settled into their chairs at the kitchen table, impatiently awaiting their toasted waffles. Everyone’s already dressed, Phoebe and Daisy in their winter clothes and his mom in scrubs. Louis feels a little exposed in his loose fitting pajamas.

His mom looks up from the toaster in surprise. “I was going to let you sleep,” she says.

Phoebe looks a little nervous, but Louis says, “Couldn’t resist the smell of Eggos in the morning. Roused me from my slumber.”

His mom gives him a look like she knows he’s full of shit as he sits down on the lone mismatched chair.

“Hello, I’m Daisy,” Daisy says, reaching a hand over Phoebe. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Daisy,” their mom censures sharply.

“It’s fine,” Louis says and shakes her hand hesitantly. It’s fair enough, she’s not three, she’s a person now, and introductions are necessary. “You as well. I’m Louis.”

They are served quickly, their mom thunking a bottle of Aunt Jemima’s on the table. Daisy and Phoebe squabble over who gets it first before Louis claims it for himself.

Phoebe and Daisy grumble about the great injustices of syrup theft, but Louis just slowly and meticulously pours syrup onto his waffles and says, “Respect your elders.”

“Don’t dawdle or you’ll be late for school,” their mom chirps.

Louis groans exaggeratedly. “School,” he whines.

“I like school,” Daisy says and Phoebe agrees.

Louis makes a face at them. “Traitors to the Tomlinson name, the both of you.”

When the girls are done eating, they shoot out of their chairs to collect their books. Louis carries their plates to the sink and begins to wash them.

“Felicite will be up in the next half hour or so to take the bus to school. She knows you’re here, though, I woke her up a while ago.”

“Is she not a fan of breakfast?”

“She’s a teenager,” his mom says with a wry smile. “She’s too good for breakfast.”

Louis chuckles. He had never been too good for breakfast as a teenager, mostly because he always needed to help the girls. He doesn’t envy his mom, although he imagines Fizz’ll probably be his problem as well now.

“I’ll be home at 5:30, all of the girls take the bus home if you want to meet them, it’s the same stop.”

“I will,” Louis promises, rinsing off a plate and attempting to sound casual as he asks his next question. “Hey, Niall says you have his number?”

His mom pauses. Here it comes. “Oh? When did you see Niall?”

Louis mulls over his possible answers. “Last night.”

“I thought I had smelled -- did you stop off to see him first?” she says quietly, dangerously.

“Of course not,” Louis says, feeling a little defensive. Or a lot defensive.

“So you _didn’t_ see him?” she says, very much like a mom, and crosses her arms.

“No, I did.”

“Who does he think he is?”

“Come on, ma.”

“My son, stopping off for a pint with the boys before he deigns to come home.”

“I just ran into him, I swear!”

She turns a smile on him quickly. “I know, darling. My goodness, you got all worked up. His number’s on the fridge.” She presses a kiss to his forehead and he huffs. Sometimes it’s too hard to tell whether she’s joking. Moms can get away with that kind of thing. “Be good.”

She calls out at the girls, who come thundering back downstairs. Their departure is quick and loud and he’s startled by how very suddenly he’s been left alone. He needs a few minutes to breathe.

He has long since finished the dishes and any other sort of busy work he can find to occupy his mind when Fizz comes downstairs.

“Hey, Fizz,” he says from where he’s seated in his mismatched chair.

“Felicite,” she corrects, snatching the brown paper sack lunch from the kitchen counter. She leaves the house without even looking at him and he tries not to feel anything about it.

He stalks over to the phone suspended on the wall and yanks the receiver up. He cranks through Niall’s number and it rings seven times before he answers.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, calling me at this hour?” Niall growls on the other end.

“Louis?”

“Oh.” Niall pauses strategically. “You’re forgiven.”

“Thank you, Father,” Louis jokes. “Body of Christ, et cetera.”

“Speaking of, let’s have lunch,” Niall says. So they do.

Louis’ got $37 newly American dollars fresh in his pocket and he’s in a desperate need for a real American cheeseburger. The restaurant is only a few blocks from the bank which is only a few blocks from Horan’s. Sometimes he forgets how stunningly cramped his hometown feels, even if it is just barely on the right side of suffocating.

Niall’s already seated at the table in the far right corner when Louis walks into Paddy’s House of Patties. The joint is crowded with a sea of law enforcement: mostly police officers from Marquette, some from neighboring towns. There’s even the county sheriff, the same one from when he was a kid, bent over a cup of coffee. The walls have framed cop paraphernalia and a minor shrine is dedicated to the titular Paddy, who appears to be a retired police commissioner. So really, this is the best possible place for a known fugitive to sit idly and have a nice lunch.

“Tommo,” Niall shouts, waving him over. Louis feels alarmed for a moment before he sees that nobody looks up at him. He rubs his face with some measure of exasperation before weaving his way through the tables to Niall.

“Are you fucking serious, Niall?” Louis asks him point blank as he takes a seat, his back to the rest of the dining area.

“What?” Niall asks, all innocence.

“This place is crawling with pigs.”

“So?”

“You’re going to make me say it out loud, aren’t you?” Louis shakes his head as Niall shrugs and continues with his wide-eyed stare. “I could get arrested. Or worse.”

“War is over, babe. It’s probably not so bad in the army nowadays,” Niall says with a smirk.

“You’re a son of a bitch.”

Niall cocks an eyebrow in judgment. “No, I’m not.”

Louis slumps back in his chair and admits, “No, you’re not.”

“Relax, Tommo. I don’t think anyone cares.” Niall’s smirk grows into a full smile. He’s enjoying this far too much. “And it’s nice to see you sweat.”

Louis peeks over his shoulder anyway.

“He’s not here,” Niall says.

Louis turns back. “Who?”

Niall considers him for a moment. “No one,” he says finally as someone arrives to take their order. Louis orders a massive, heart-stopping cheeseburger and Niall just says he wants the usual, which appears to mean something to the waitress.

“So you’ll want to know who’s still alive?” Niall asks as soon as they’re alone again.

Louis almost chokes on nothing. “Jesus Christ, Niall.” But he’s not wrong. “Well, yeah.”

“Liam’s alive,” he says immediately. “All in one piece.”

Something breaks open in Louis’ chest, something he wasn’t even aware he was holding in, at the sound of his name. Louis wonders if it’s relief flooding his veins. He blinks away the potential wetness in his eyes and nods in thanks.

“Harry, Jack, and I enlisted the day after Harry’s eighteenth birthday.”

All relief transitions immediately to anger, burning from inside out. He has to clamp his jaws shut to not say anything. _Fucking enlisted_. He nods, his teeth grinding together painfully in his effort to stay quiet, and Niall continues, his brows furrowing.

“Harry got a 4-F for his asthma,” Niall shifts uncomfortably, his face falling. “I, um, I’ve never seen him so mad before.”

This is news, Harry doesn’t get mad. He bottles things until they seem to disappear, which seems like a terrible idea to Louis. Eventually the pressure is going to make the bottles explode. But Louis can’t judge, really. If Louis’ feelings were in pressurized bottles, he would just shake them up and strategically aim the explosion at whoever he thought deserved it.

“He stayed back, did what he could to help on the home front. Got kids writing letters and sending packages and stuff? He’d always say you didn’t have to support the war because he didn’t support the war, but you had to support the troops.”

“Of course he did,” Louis says with a roll of his eyes.

Niall’s voice drops almost to a whisper, as though Harry were around to hear. “It’s not something I can tell him, but I’m glad he didn’t go. He’d have--” Niall breaks off when they are delivered drinks and a generous helping of french fries with a bottle of Heinz 57. He passes a thanks to the waitress, but doesn’t finish his thought. He doesn’t really need to.

Louis watches as Niall picks up one fry at a time and carefully lines one edge of it with a generous helping of ketchup before popping the whole thing -- regardless of size -- into his mouth. It’s both mesmerizing and kind of disgusting.

He doesn’t want to prompt Niall, but he doesn’t have to. “Jack’s gone.”

“Fuck,” Louis mutters, dropping his french fry. He feels too nauseated to even smell food, thinking about all the things he shouldn’t be thinking about his dead friend. “What happened?”

Niall focuses on the methodical ketchup frosting of his fries as he says simply, “War.”

“Fuck,” Louis whispers again, his heart pounding and breath catching in this throat like his lungs have forgotten how to do their job and his stomach lurching like he’s going to lose his Eggos all over the table. Everything settles in nice and heavy on his chest. Louis lost a friend, a best friend even, a member of his family, and he didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Louis wonders how long Jack’s been gone and whether Jack was alive the last time Louis spared a thought for him. He doesn’t know what he should have been expecting, really, but he never thought any of them would die. None of them were at risk except Liam, so he’d always pictured them home and safe and happy. Jack wasn’t supposed to die. It’s not fucking fair.

They sit there for another minute, Niall eating and Louis sitting with his hands in his lap, trying to calm down and make any sense at all of his life.

“You learn to push through it,” Niall breaks the silence like a wake up slap to Louis’ face.

Louis looks up at him with a frown. “What?”

“The nausea,” Niall says easily. “You learn to just shove the food down anyway. No use surviving the war if you’re just going to starve yourself.”

So Louis eats seven fries before their burgers arrive.

“What about Zayn?”

“Family man. Married, two kids.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. A small amount of the weight lifts from his chest, he feels a bit of warmth. “No fucking way.”

“I’m dead serious. He got it right.”

They trade smiles and eat, moving onto more innocuous conversation, tiptoeing around the subject of Niall’s injury and other deeper issues.

Niall tells him about the time he nearly burned Harry's parents' house down trying to cook something on their grill -- still the best steaks anyone's ever eaten though, he claims. He talks about writing to local small breweries to grow the bar's beer selection, although the guys at the bar always order the same old shit. He tells Louis about meeting a couple of nice girls, but how he's not in a hurry to settle down, much to his mother's dismay.

Louis presses a sloppy kiss to Niall’s cheek after they bundle up at the door to face the cold weather. At least it’s not snowing.

“I missed you,” Louis says.

“Me too. We all did. You left a hole,” Niall says and Louis knows it’s not meant to feel like a sucker punch to the chest, but it does. Louis can’t apologize but Niall doesn’t seem to want him to. Louis holds the door open for the two of them.

“I’ll see you later,” Niall says, pushing himself in the direction of his bar without waiting for a response.

Louis walks home with Harry and Zayn’s phone numbers burning a hole in his pocket and a promise to call them tomorrow for a reunion. He appreciates Niall left it at only them.

He’s relieved there’s still a key hidden under the third rock from the right in their front yard because the thought of getting back into the house hadn’t occurred to him. He would have had to wait outside for a few hours so his far more respectable ten-year-old sisters could show up and let him in.

He dumps every piece of clothing he has into the washing machine and sets it going. He feels restless here. Historically he’d have whined and complained a solid twenty minutes before agreeing to do any sort of thing involving housework. He realizes now how he always did the chore anyway, so the whining had been basically pointless. But that’s what he does: dedicates an immeasurable amount of time shouting and railing against the things he doesn’t want to do and then does it anyway. Well, with one notable exception.

He’s about to start folding his clean clothing when he notes the time. He figures not much has changed in the decade and a half or so since he’s attended elementary school, so he heads for the three-way stop at the front of his subdivision. After seven minutes of waiting, the school bus arrives and the girls disembark.

“Lou, guess what we did today!” Phoebe shouts.

“Built a rocket ship,” he suggests as they walk back home. Phoebe bounces with energy ahead of them and Daisy walks close to Louis, nearly on top of him.

“No.”

“Finished _Moby Dick_.”

“Noooo.”

“Won _Let’s Make a Deal_.”

“No!”

“Then I have no idea,” he says, making a little face with his eyebrows sky high and his lips pursed. “Those are all things I did when I was your age.”

“We wrote letters to Santa,” Daisy says and Phoebe makes an indignant noise at having the opportunity to tell him taken away from her.

“What’d you ask Santa for?”

“We can’t tell you otherwise we won’t get it,” Phoebe explains like Louis is an unquestionable idiot. Maybe he is.

“I think that’s only for wishes,” he says.

“No, it’s for Santa,” she insists as Louis unlocks the door. The girls shoot into the kitchen. They yank off their small parkas and toss them on the kitchen table.

“Ladies, I don’t think ma lets you keep your coats there, does she?” he asks. They trade guilty looks before snatching their coats and putting them away in the hall closet, Louis following them and depositing his own. “What’s on the schedule?”

“Ants on a log and math times tables for practice and then Nancy Drew until Felicite comes home,” Daisy says.

“Ants on a log, that’s a classic.”

“It’s Liam’s favorite, he brings celery every week because we’re not allowed to use the knife,” Phoebe boasts, pulling a plate of pre-cut celery covered in cellophane from the fridge. Daisy grabs the peanut butter and a small box of raisins from the pantry.

They don’t feel like they’re going to collapse at such a simple sentence like Louis feels like he’s going to collapse. His face can’t help pulling into a frown. “Liam brings you celery?” he chokes out.

“He brings us lots of things and sometimes he hides them in the kitchen so we have to find them. It’s a game,” Phoebe explains as she messily slathers a piece of celery with peanut butter using a spoon. Louis grabs a butter knife of his own and begins to tackle the other half of the plate, just so he has an activity to focus on.

“He tells us not to tell mom,” Daisy adds.

That makes it click into place for Louis. His dad’s gone and his sister’s gone to college and it’s just his mom and her overtime at the hospital if she can get it and her pride that Louis knows he’s inherited. And then there’s Liam, who still has to take care of everyone without bothering to ask for permission because he knows he won’t get it.

Louis doesn’t know whether he feels angry or grateful.

Liam doesn’t get to have Louis’ family when Louis couldn’t. He doesn’t get to play the hero when he turned his back on Louis. When he left Louis standing alone at the bus station with two tickets in his hand and a frown on his face. Not when Louis let four buses go before he called Liam’s house to find he wasn’t coming. Not when he wouldn’t even say goodbye.

Obviously it’s anger, it’s always going to be anger first, so he tries to bury it.

Louis eats at least three of the ants on a log anyway, maybe as an act of spite.

The girls are supposed to do as many simple multiplications as they can in thirty seconds, so Louis helps in the best way he can: shouting _one Mississippi two Mississippi_ and so on louder than actually necessary so they spend more time laughing than they do calculating. Then it’s Nancy Drew, but it’s Louis dramatically reading Nancy Drew aloud, complete with voices and faces and dramatic pauses.

It’s easy, it’s so easy to fall back into this role, doing for Phoebe and Daisy what he did for Lottie and Fizz, entertaining and captivating an audience. And they let him fall just as easily because kids don’t care about what was, they care about what is. And there’s no better sound in the world, really, than the unadulterated laughter of kids, who shouldn’t be allowed to have any cares or worries or stresses.

Fizz comes home and walks immediately upstairs without any greeting.

“Fizz,” Louis calls after her anyway, getting the lack of response he knows he’s going to get.

“She doesn’t like to be called that,” Daisy says.

“Since when?”

Phoebe and Daisy shrug, but Louis thinks he has a pretty good idea. His mom had said she was just being a teenager, but he’s sure he’s the one that’s pissed her off. Maybe she doesn’t understand why he left. He gives her space anyway, choosing to ask his mom about it later that night as she starts making dinner.

“Fizz didn’t say a word to me today,” Louis says.

“She’s in a funk,” his mom says, measuring out flour.

“I think she’s mad at me.”

She doesn’t hesitate, she just focuses on the task at hand and admits, “She is mad at you. But she’ll work through it.”

“She just needs time?”

“Wise statement, darling,” she says, smearing a little flour on his nose. “You’ve gotten smarter in your old age.”

Louis chuckles his best sarcastic laugh and takes a proper look at everything she’s trying to juggle. “Do you need some help?”

“No, thank you, I’m afraid I need this to be edible.”

Louis clutches at his heart and slumps over dramatically on an unoccupied spot of the counter. “Cuts deep, ma.” There isn’t a lot of room on the counter to fall dramatically onto, he notices. “This is a lot of food.”

“We’re having guests,” she says nonchalantly.

“Guests?” he asks before it sinks in. His voice drops as fast as his stomach does. “What did you do?”

She’s saved from responding by the sound of the front door opening and a voice calling out, “Jay, hello!”

“You should get that,” she says, turning to the stove, so he does.

Harry slips off his snow boots while juggling several Tupperware containers and also trying to take his jacket off. So naturally it’s kind of a nightmare. It’s also so Harry, Louis can’t help but smile.

“Harry,” Louis says when he’s not noticed. Harry whirls around and suddenly fixes Louis in a tight hug, the Tupperware practically pressing into his back. Harry is a bone-crushing hugger like Niall, nearly cutting off air supply, and Louis has to give him a few warning pats on the back when it becomes evident Harry doesn’t plan on letting go. “Air, Harry.”

Harry pulls away with a rueful smile. “Sorry, hi, Tommo, I love you and I missed you.”

“I love you and I missed you too,” Louis echoes immediately because it’s true. He fishes the Tupperware out of Harry’s hand to let Harry continue his slow removal of snow-based clothing. He seems taller, a million miles taller, but maybe Louis’ just forgotten because he has his pride and he doesn’t like to look up at people. Harry removes his knit hat, a mess of inconsistently curly locks popping out and nestling themselves just above his collar. That’s new. Louis kind of wants to tug on his long hair so he does.

“Ow,” Harry says pointedly and pushes past Louis to hang his coat and store his shoes in the hall closet. He doesn’t put on another pair of shoes, though, just pads around in his socks like he’s at home.

They stand beside the hall closet, neither quite willing to go to the kitchen, neither quite sure what to say.

“So,” Harry starts. “The weather?”

Louis snorts, which gets Harry laughing, which gets Louis laughing, and they become two idiots standing in the hallway laughing at each other because who knows where to start with seven years between them.

Louis has a duty, though, so he says, “I’m sorry about Jack.” Because fuck, _Jack_ , Jack is dead and Louis doesn’t know what to do about it. Louis wavers between wanting to know every detail about his life and death and wanting to know nothing at all. He’s not sure if he would find closure in detail or be haunted by it.

Harry smiles a sad smile, because even when he’s sad he likes to put up a front, and says, “Me too.”

He pulls Louis in for another hug. It’s weird that Harry and Niall aren’t as broken up about it as Louis feels, but it’s probably been years for them. They’ve had time to mourn and move on, but Louis feels it so fresh. It stings so much he shoves it away, deep inside him, so it can’t hurt him anymore.

“What’s brought you over here?” Louis asks even though he’s pretty sure he knows.

“Your mom called my mom called the whole town. There may or may not be a homecoming party on the way,” Harry says and he at least has the decency to look sheepish about it.

“The whole town knows I’m here?” Louis sputters. “So much for flying under the radar.”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll tell the cops to stand down, be cool.”

“And they’ll listen to you?” Louis says, sort of playfully, but also who does Harry think he is?

“Well, yeah, I work with them,” Harry says, making an indignant face.

Louis’ entire brain shutters to a halt and he has to make a very serious, concerted effort not to laugh in Harry’s face. “ _You’re_ a policeman? They let you be a policeman?”

“I think I’m offended by your tone of surprise,” Harry says, and takes a second to think about it. “Definitely offended.” He gives Louis a shove before adding, “Although, no, I’m not a police officer, I’m just the dispatcher. But still. They respect me, I’m a respectable man.”

Louis chuckles a little and internally heaves a sigh of relief that no one’s let Harry Styles become a policeman. “I always said your voice belonged on the radio.”

Harry narrows his eyes and snatches the Tupperware back to stalk into the kitchen. He gives Jay a kiss on the cheek and silently begins helping her cook like he just seems to know intrinsically what to do. So Louis sits at the kitchen table and watches them, feeling quite useless. He considers joining the twins in the living room where they’re drawing.

“Can we, um, can we talk about it?” Harry asks the room as he unpacks his Tupperware containers, vague but just enough to know that he doesn’t mean dinner. Jay gives a little wave of consent and Louis nods. “Where have you been?”

“Ontario, mostly,” Louis answers carefully. “Spent a few years in London, Toronto, worked my way east for a while, but I forgot all my high school French, so that didn’t last very long.”

“What were you doing?”

“Anything I could get, really. There were some good people, sympathizers and the like. Sometimes it wasn’t so hard.” Louis finds himself suddenly very interested in a small purple stain on the kitchen table, a marker gone astray, perhaps. Anything to keep his eyes away from Harry’s, which are threatening to pop out of his face with the level of intensity they are experiencing. He doesn’t feel the need to elaborate. That part of his life is over and done with.

“Were you okay?”

Louis bites his lip and thinks about it. “I was alive.”

The doorbell rings.

“That’s enough of that for now,” Jay says, stilted. “Louis, the door please.”

Louis and Harry trade glances. _It’s fine_ , Harry mouths, but it probably isn’t.

An hour and a half later, at least fifty people are crammed into Louis’ house, some of which he knows, most of which he doesn’t. It’s mostly older couples with the occasional member of Louis’ graduating class. No one seems to know what the purpose of this gathering is for, as Louis is left alone for a lot of it, but he’s not complaining.

Harry has been entertaining a group of parents for at least the last twenty minutes, Louis has busied himself with chasing the twins around until the three of them got yelled at, and Fizz has yet to be seen. Louis meets and charms Dan, his mom’s boyfriend, an OB/GYN from her hospital, almost immediately, but he leaves the two of them to cuddle alone in the kitchen. He feels weird trying to be part of their lives right now when he knows nothing about it.

He’s torn between wanting to be left alone and wanting to lose himself inside a wave of attention. It feels like a lot, all of these people Louis hasn’t spared a thought for in seven years, this life Louis isn’t sure he really missed. He has to have missed this, he reasons, or else he wouldn’t have come home.

He finds himself outside in the biting air without a jacket, his legs having made the decision for him. He’s shivering but he finds he doesn’t mind the cold. It’s a good distraction. He can’t see much of his town from his house, but his neighborhood looks quiet and unassuming as a new layer of snow finds its way down from the sky to lightly dust cars and houses and mailboxes.

He watches a car park across the street and the commotion that ensues from a family of three getting out.

Louis exhales big, his breath visible and twisting ahead of him. He wishes for a cigarette, something to calm his nerves and occupy his hands. And give him an excuse to be outside other than _hiding pathetically_.

The family moves through the darkness over toward Louis’ house. A mom and a dad holding a hand each of a toddler, no older than three. Louis almost breathes a sigh of relief when he sees it’s Zayn’s family as they pass under a street lamp. Even under the winter hat and with the beard that nearly rivals Louis’, Louis knows it’s Zayn. And this is his beautiful family.

Zayn spies him in the doorway and he smiles, soft and dependable. Louis doesn’t give him the opportunity to say anything or separate himself from his daughter before Louis clamps onto him.

Zayn chuckles lightly, just a little sound in the back of his throat. “Hey, Tommo.”

Louis lets up only when he feels satisfied, moving back to glance at his family. “Hi, hello, heh, I’m Louis?”

“Is that a question?” Zayn’s wife answers with an amused look.

“It’s an apology, I think,” Louis says, shifting his eyes between the three of them. “I’m apologizing for myself preemptively.”

“I’m Perrie,” she introduces, bending over and pressing him into a one-armed hug. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. I’ve heard a million stories.”

Louis flicks his eyes to Zayn, who’s still smiling. Zayn gives him a little shrug. “Only the terrible ones are true,” Louis says before kneeling down to get on the level of their daughter. “Who’s this?”

“This is Josie,” Zayn says. “Josie, remember we talked about your uncle Louis? Do you want to say hi?”

Josie shakes her head before tucking it into Perrie’s long coat.

“That’s all right,” Louis says, trying to sound easy about it, and straightens. He’s magic with kids, considering he’s got four sisters, but he can’t figure out what he’s doing wrong for Josie.

Perrie nods her head toward the door, passes a smile to Louis, and leads Josie into the house after Louis takes the hint and grabs the door.

“There’s a closet for your coat,” Louis says with a gesture.

“Thanks,” Perrie says, shedding Josie’s coat first before her own. Louis notices Perrie’s pregnant, very pregnant, any day now pregnant. How did that escape his notice? He’s old enough now to have friends who have spouses and children. He’s just been called Uncle Louis.

“Fuck,” Louis whispers involuntarily. Zayn’s hand appears suddenly on his shoulder and squeezes gently. “Do you have a cigarette?”

“I quit,” Zayn says, pushing Louis gently forward so Zayn can enter the house and close the door to the snow.

“Bullshit you quit,” Louis says. Zayn always smokes, he’s practically got a share in Marlboro.

“Perrie doesn’t like it.” Zayn’s attention wanders over to his family, he watches them intently until they turn the corner to the living room.

Louis just stares at him, but Zayn doesn’t notice. Zayn’s mom never liked it, complained about the smell and the ashes burning the carpets, gave both Zayn and his dad hell almost every day of the week. Zayn would always tell her he’d stop smoking when he died.

But Perrie doesn’t like it.

Louis nods in concession finally, but he just doesn’t get it. “You’re having another kid, man. Congratulations.”

“Yeah, next week. I’m getting a little impatient, but Perrie’s like we’ve got to wait for it to be ready, miracle of nature, and all that.” Zayn shakes his head.

“You love it,” Louis accuses.

“Yeah,” Zayn admits, scrunching his face up with a smile like he’s embarrassed to be caught. “Can’t stay long. Dan’s got Perrie on bed rest, technically, but she said she was coming down with cabin fever.”

“Dan’s her doctor?”

“Keep it in the family,” Zayn says like it’s nothing, but it’s everything and Louis deserves none of it.

Louis plays it off like he’s supposed to, like it really is nothing. “I can’t hear anything, but I can feel my mom slowly losing her mind that Perrie is here.”

“Yeah, there’s something in the air,” Zayn says with a laugh. “A storm is brewing.”

“We should just hide here by the door for the rest of the night.”

“I will never forgive myself if I leave Perrie alone with your mom.”

“Fair enough.”

They move into the living room, Zayn wandering off to find Perrie. Louis sees Harry has already gained custody of Josie and bounces her on his hip. Harry had always said if he didn’t have at least seven kids by the time he was thirty, then he was failing at life. Louis is reasonably certain Harry doesn’t have any yet and Louis wonders if it’s killing him, even at the ripe old age of twenty-four.

Louis moves into the kitchen where a generous amount of food -- both courtesy of his mom and other guests -- is displayed all over the counters and the kitchen table.

“Tomlinson,” a dark voice says as Louis fills a tiny plate with food. He doesn’t even need to glance up to know it’s Mr. Keating, high school geography teacher and all around douchebag. Louis wishes he had stayed in the hallway.

“Yes, sir,” Louis says, setting his plate down and fixing him with a glare. He’s still as portly and ugly as Louis remembers. He could be letting his sour opinion of the man color his perception of his looks, but he doubts it.

“Where have you been off to?” Mr. Keating asks like he doesn’t fucking know.

“Great big country up north, can’t remember the name of it, I failed geography, so.” Not one of his best comebacks, but he’s being caught off guard.

“As we all suspected.”

“Right on,” Louis says, making sure to grab his plate before inching away. “You have a great night, sir.”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, coming back here after all this time.” His face is nearly contorted in a sneer, but mostly he just wears the look of utter disgust.

Louis doesn’t owe him his time or his words, which is what he keeps telling himself as he weaves through the crowd, snatching up a fresh bottle of beer from a table. Although it may already belong to someone else. Louis doesn’t really care, it’s his party and he’ll steal his guests’ beer if he wants to.

He should find someone to be proud of him for being the better man. So he finds Harry, who has begrudgingly relinquished Josie to the arms of Zayn, who is slowly rocking her to sleep. Perrie sits in the recliner next to them, looking tired herself with her eyes half-closed and a hand on her stomach.

“How that bastard Keating didn’t burst into flames upon crossing my threshold, I’ll never know,” Louis growls into Harry’s ear.

Harry tenses up and scans the room for him. Louis might have been considered a lost cause by most of their teachers--a waste of potential, a bright future stymied by overwhelming apathy. Harry was the kind of student every teacher loved, but he knows Keating was the cruelest of Louis’ disappointed teachers. Harry gets as close to exhibiting hatred as he can at the mere mention of the man’s name. It was comforting then and remains so now, and Louis feels just a little bolstered.

“I’ll kick him out,” Harry says low and Louis throws him a look. He corrects quickly, “I’ll get Dan to kick him out.”

“Let him stay and wallow in sadness in the corner before he has no choice but to slink into the night, back home to his empty apartment, absent of all mirth and warmth to live his dull life absent of mirth and warmth until he inevitably dies in some freak accident involving his precious pull-down wall maps.” Louis might have failed geography, but he got excellent marks in drama. The tension leaves him as his words do.

“Jesus, Tommo, what did he say to you?” Harry’s eyes are wide and he passes a look to Zayn.

“Nothing,” Louis says dismissively and knocks back half of his beer in one go. Harry presses his mouth into a firm line and Zayn smartly says nothing.

Twenty minutes and two beers later, Louis is pleasantly buzzed as Zayn and Perrie make their rounds before leaving. Louis kisses Perrie on the cheek twice and even gets a half-hearted wave from Josie, but probably only because she’s half-asleep on Zayn’s shoulder still.

“Thanks for coming home,” Zayn says softly and Louis doesn’t know what to say.

He never feels like he’s on even footing anymore.

The gathering is still going strong when he volunteers to take the twins to bed--even though they are almost ten years old and don’t need to be babysat, thank you very much. They prove to Louis that they have brushed their teeth by blowing obnoxiously in his face. From outside their room, he can still hear them whispering to each other in bed, but he doesn’t care enough to say anything about it. It’s Friday night and the last day of school until the new year and Louis is a benevolent king.

He ducks his head into Fizz’s room after knocking. “Good night,” he says, feeling like a disappointed parent desperate for attention.

Fizz sits curled into her bed and reads a book by the light of her bedside lamp. “Okay,” is all she says.

Now is not the time for this, he thinks, which he will probably always think in the name of not pissing off his sister. “Okay,” he repeats and closes the door. He thinks he hears her say good night, but he’s not going to prove it or push it.

Shortly after returning downstairs, he’s cornered by his neighbor, Mrs. Sandowski, an old gossip who greets him with shining eyes and says, “How was Canada?” like Louis had just taken an extended vacation instead of fleeing the country to avoid dying in the war.

“Very cold,” Louis answers.

“What’d you get up to?”

Louis bites down a sarcastic remark about spending some quality time skiing and moose hunting at his secluded cabin in the woods.

Because Harry suddenly descends like the savior he is.

“Louis has been an assassin for hire,” he says. Louis makes a noise of affirmation. Harry turns to Louis with a considering frown on his face. “It’s ironic, you know, considering how you left because you didn’t want to kill people.”

“Well,” Louis says in mock seriousness. “Private sector pays better than the army for murder.”

“There is that,” Harry says seriously, turning back to Mrs. Sandowski, who looks properly scandalized.

“There is that,” Louis agrees. Mrs. Sandowski purses her lips and shakes her head in disapproval before sauntering away.

“Have a good evening, Mrs. S,” Louis calls after her before turning to Harry. “Will you just follow me around for the rest of my life and save me from terrible conversations?”

Harry ducks down to press a quick kiss to Louis’ temple. “Absolutely not,” he says and disappears as quickly as he appeared.

Louis wanders off in search of another beer and just after he secures one, he sees him.

He’s _there_ standing next to a bewildered-looking Harry and it’s not a figment of Louis’ imagination this time, not like any of the other times Louis has thought he'd seen him in a crowd these last seven years.

It’s not his Liam that he sees, though, not this broad-shouldered man with a thick neck and carefully parted hair. Not this man with steel in his eyes and in his jaw. Not this man done up in navy blue with a badge and a gun.

But it’s Liam, he knows for sure, it’s just not his Liam. His Liam is soft and nervous without good reason. His Liam always has a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, even when Louis is being a complete dickhead. His Liam enters every room with an unassuming posture and unsure eyes.

Liam locks him in a stare and Louis doesn’t know what to do or say or feel. Surely he’s thought of what he would do if he was faced with Liam again, surely he’s made plans and thought of witty things to cut him down with. But in the moment, Louis has absolutely nothing.

Liam strides over, gets right up in Louis' face, and Louis forgets to breathe. Or maybe he doesn't remember how to. Liam latches a hand around his bicep, a little firmer than Louis is particularly comfortable with.

This is a strange greeting, Louis thinks as he's being hauled forward toward the door. Liam’s hands are on him, he thinks, letting the thought cloud his mind. He’s still not sure what to do or say or feel, so he just follows Liam’s lead. Which he’s not used to doing. Liam’s silence unnerves him.

“What's going on?” Louis says as he's pushed outside because he can’t quite take it anymore, even if it has only been thirty seconds of silence.

“I can't arrest you in front of your mother,” Liam says gruffly.

Louis isn't sure he heard him correctly. “What?”

Liam turns Louis abruptly, pressing him face first against the side of the house. It's a familiar move to Louis, not one he's particularly in the mood for at the moment.

And then Liam handcuffs Louis' hands behind his back, which is admittedly not a move Louis is familiar with.

“What the fuck?” Louis spits, tugging at the cuffs uselessly before he's being hauled toward the police cruiser parked at the curb.

“Louis Tomlinson, you have the right to remain silent.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” Liam wrenches the back door open and forces Louis in with a hand on his head to guide him. “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

“Fuck you,” Louis snarls with more venomous intention than he’s ever felt in his entire life. The feeling of it sinks low in his stomach. He hates it.

“I'll put you down for yes,” Liam says and slams the car door in Louis' face.

They reduce themselves to a strong shared silence as Liam carefully drives through the snow, presumably to the station. Both are too stubborn, they’ve spoken their pieces. Louis knows he should be pitching a fit, Liam fully expects Louis to be pitching a fit, Louis always pitches a fit. But this feels different. Because it’s _Liam_.

Louis is angry. Also scared, but mostly angry, viciously angry in a way he doesn’t let himself get. Such anger can’t be put into words, such anger shuts Louis down. In the past, it would have been Liam to talk him down from this.

Liam came into his mother’s _home_. To prove a fucking point. There are a million and one options Liam could have chosen to prove his stupid little point once he knew Louis was in town, but Liam chose _this moment_. And Liam doesn’t do things, not big things like this anyway, accidentally.

Louis spirals further into anger. Fucking Liam.

Louis gets out of the car at the police station all by himself, he doesn’t need Liam’s help. Liam still grabs his arm anyway and carts him into the building, past the front desk where a secretary lounging with a magazine jumps up, baffled, at the sight of them. Louis is pushed straight back into the area with cells, past a number of offices and cubicles. He can’t be entirely certain, being that he’s not a police officer, but he doesn’t think people just get shoved in jail cells anymore. Isn’t there picture taking and fingerprinting like in the movies? A formal part where Liam tells him what he’s been arrested for?

Liam sneaks glances at Louis like he’s anticipating an explosion at any given moment and Louis is not going to give it to him. Even if Liam is breaking some seventeen laws or rules or whatever by pressing him against the bars of an empty cell to unlock his handcuffs.

Louis steps into the cell and locks eyes with Liam, he’s not going to say anything, but he’s going make Liam aware of what he’s doing at every given moment. Liam stares back and his eyes aren’t dead or cold like Louis expects them to be. They’re a little wide, maybe hurt but maybe not. Louis knows he looks furious as Liam shuts in the cell door unceremoniously in Louis’ face.

Liam stares at him for a moment longer before turning on his heel and hauling his stupidly hulking body out the door. Louis hardly has time to think about how much Liam doesn’t look like a kid anymore, how none of them look like kids. He feels a lot more sober than he wants to right now.

He leans back on a cot that’s more metal slab than actual bed and glares at the concrete ceiling.

This is what Liam thinks Louis deserves, to be turned over the United States Military, even after all this time. An eye for an eye, a tour for a tour. Liam grew his overdeveloped sense of justice from years of reading comic books, Louis knows this for certain, and god help the people of Marquette now that Liam is in a position to do something about it.

The last thought he has before he drifts to sleep is that maybe Liam didn’t process him because he doesn’t actually want Louis to get in trouble. Fucking Liam.

\--


	4. October 31, 1967

_(Moondance - Van Morrison)_

* * *

_October 31, 1967_

Liam hasn’t spoken a word in half an hour and he doesn’t actually mind. The thing is, Louis talks. Louis talks _a lot_. Liam talks a lot too, apparently, once you get him going, but he’s only got his parents’ word for it. And he can’t imagine he talks nearly as much as Louis talks.

Louis met Liam at his house half an hour ago and greeted him with the customary tussle in Liam’s front yard, with Louis winning by playing dirty until the last moment when Liam was able to pin Louis’ arms to his sides. Once the greeting is taken care of, the two of them slowly walk their way over to Harry’s house for a night of Revelry and Mischief, with particular attention to be paid to the Mischief portion.

Liam isn’t even sure why Louis bothered to invite Liam “Stick in the Mud” Payne on this night that’s sure to be full of things Liam will frown over and disapprove of. He’s used to playing that role -- the nagger, the father-figure. He’s spent two months chasing after Louis, pointlessly saying, “I don’t think we’re allowed to eat lunch outside” or “You can’t just steal sports equipment from school even though nobody is using it” or “Staring at your geography homework isn’t actually the same as doing your geography homework.”

But Liam comes because Louis told him to and Liam does everything Louis tells him to, only after Liam’s spent some time complaining about it. It’s gotten Liam in trouble a few more times than he cares to mention. Liam is a planner even though before Louis he didn’t have any real appointments to speak of. He took weeks to get used to Louis calling him and saying something like, “Be at my house in twenty minutes” and hanging up without waiting for a response, like he knew Liam would say yes. Liam always says yes, but it takes a lot of negotiating with his parents first.

It’s been a weird two months for Liam, to say the least.

His friends call him Tommo, but Liam stumbles on that. He calls him Louis because that’s how he introduced himself to Liam’s mom. Tommo feels private. He’s not sure if they’re there yet.

Liam knows Louis is different because there just aren’t people like him in the world. He likes Niall and Harry and Zayn and Jack well enough, but Louis is something else. Liam doesn’t know how he would express it if asked. He doubts he would express it if he could, like how he feels about Louis is a private thing that belongs only to Liam and to let it out into the world would spoil it.

He knows part of it is he’s desperate for Louis’ attention and Louis’ approval, both of which Louis’ gives only discerningly. Louis’ the kind of person to be pulled in all different directions by all people, but when he’s pulled in your direction, there’s nothing else you need because Louis gives you everything.

More often than not, Liam just finds himself smiling at Louis, like he is during this slow walk towards Harry’s house that he kind of wishes would never end. Not that he doesn’t want to share his time with Louis with the others, but.

He’s talking about taking the girls out for trick or treating -- the girls being his two younger sisters Lottie and Fizz, who dressed up as a ghost and a witch respectively -- while his mom and dad stayed home with the newborn twins Phoebe and Daisy. Louis talks about his family so constantly that Liam feels like he knows them even though he’s never met them.

Louis dressed up like a cat at his sisters’ insistence. Liam has a sneaking suspicion Louis was more than happy to have his face marked up in a black nose and whiskers though, given he’s still wearing the makeup now. He’s also done up in a black turtle neck and black trousers that look very nice on him. The outfit doubles as the perfect disguise for mischief, and knowing Louis, he probably planned it that way.

Louis doesn’t knock on Harry’s front door, instead just lets himself in and even after two months of seeing him do this, the action baffles Liam. Louis seems so comfortable in a home that isn’t his, which sort of makes sense to Liam because Louis seems to make himself at home wherever he is. He walks through the house, opening the glass door to the backyard like he knows intrinsically where to find Harry. Maybe he does.

Zayn and Jack are smoking by the glass door. They trade hellos with Liam, who stays back with them as Louis marches his way over to Harry and Niall, who sit in the swings of the entirely too rusty swing set in the middle of Harry’s backyard. Niall, wearing sunglasses even though the sun is practically set, laughs openly as Louis plants himself right on Harry’s lap.

Harry shrieks and wobbles precariously under the added weight. “You’ll break the swing!” he shouts, shoving at Louis.

“Are you calling me fat?” Louis howls, rolling off his lap and onto the grass.

“Surprised you’re here,” Jack says, pulling Liam’s attention.

Liam doesn’t realize he’s been smiling until it fades at the question. “Why?”

“Didn’t seem like your bag,” he answers with a shrug.

Liam answers with his own shrug and Zayn smirks, though his head is ducked, Liam can tell he’s looking up at him from underneath those long eyelashes. Liam hasn’t quite figured Zayn out yet, but he gets the feeling Zayn is on his side. Well, maybe not on his side because there aren’t sides necessarily, but Zayn seems pro-Liam. Unlike Jack, who sometimes comes across a little wary whenever Liam shows up.

Louis drags Harry and Niall over to the rest of them and claps his hands together. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he announces, fixing each of them with a serious stare. Liam feels like a soldier awaiting his general’s instructions. General Tommo. “I see none of you adhered to the strict clothing guidelines I set forth earlier this afternoon. Jack, your shirt is yellow, did you maybe think about being seen sneaking around in yellow?”

Jack flips Louis the bird and Louis turns away, unfazed.

“I didn’t know there were strict clothing guidelines,” Liam worries. He’s not in all black like Louis is, but at least navy is kind of close.

“You look great, babe, don’t worry,” Louis says with a wink and Liam can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth at the praise. Niall snorts.

“Nonetheless,” Louis announces, thrusting a finger into the air and affecting a voice like the one that narrated over old timey newsreel footage of World War II. “We are gathered here tonight for the most sacred of traditions. Well, what I hope will be a forthcoming sacred tradition. As we are the first and thus should the generations to come follow in our shining example.”

“Tommo,” Zayn says patiently.

“Skip the speech?” Louis asks. Zayn nods. “All right. Hands in, boys.”

The other four move to form circle with Louis and Liam takes the hint, fitting himself between Louis and Zayn, sticking his hand out to join the others’ in the middle.

“Let’s go to class,” Louis says, and the others repeat it back to him, Liam a little slow on the uptake. Their hands push downwards before they break apart and Liam feels like he has just been Part of Something.

Liam isn’t sure what that something means, so he says nothing, dutifully following Louis as he leads the way through Harry’s neighborhood toward the general direction of their school.

“What are we doing?” he asks Louis when he can’t actually take it anymore.

“We are taking advantage of our reputation as disreputable youths,” Louis says like that explains it all.

“I do not have that reputation,” Harry says lightly, but Louis waves that off. Liam doesn't have that reputation either, nor does he want it.

“What is the use of being told you’re wasting your potential if you don’t actively waste your potential?” Louis shifts the bag on his shoulder, the metal contents clinking together.

“Who’s telling you that you’re wasting your potential?” Liam says, frowning.

“Everyone,” Louis says, throwing his arm around Liam and pulling him closer. By now, Liam comes easily, used to the action and likes being tucked under his arm.

Louis uses his hands a lot, all of his friends do, it’s all perfectly normal to them. Not that Liam’s never been hugged before or anything, but there are just little touches, little reassurances that never occurred to Liam to give. He likes it, he likes little reminders that he has Louis’ attention or that Louis always remembers Liam is there. He’s still getting used to life with Louis’ little family of friends, still attempting to navigate who they are and how he’s supposed to fit with them.

Niall laughs the easiest even though Liam doesn’t think he’s being particularly funny and he refuses to let Liam sink into the background. Zayn asks the most questions about Liam and actually listens when Liam answers, nodding thoughtfully even if Liam knows he’s run on too long. And there’s Harry, whose personal mission seems to be making sure Liam is always smiling.

But it’s easiest with Louis, certainly, who sometimes joins Liam running out on the football field with his soccer ball in those early mornings that seem just for them. Louis, who Liam now knows was the driving force for him and Niall showing up on his birthday. Louis, who calls Liam after the girls have gone to bed even if they’d just seen each other a few hours ago. Louis, who chose Liam.

“But,” Louis continues, “my idea of potential and _their_ idea of potential differ. I think I have a great potential for mischief, and that potential I plan to fulfill with ease.”

“We’re not... committing any felonies, are we?” Liam asks, trying to sound cool about whatever answer comes his way, when he is, in fact, terrified of the possibility of going to jail.

Louis laughs and hugs Liam a little closer, which Liam hadn’t thought possible in their already close proximity. “No, Liam, no felonies, I promise.”

They walk up to the school, which seems more daunting deserted at night than it does deserted in the early morning. Maybe it’s because Liam knows what they’re about to do.

The natural light of the moon does little in the way of helping to guide them safely forward once on school property and away from the streetlights.

“Avert your innocent eyes,” Louis says as Jack approaches the front door with some sort of tool Liam can’t see clearly in the darkness.

"We can't break into the school," Liam balks.

"Clearly we can," Jack says, waving his tools.

"I mean you _shouldn't_."

Jack looks impatiently over at Louis, who then looks impatiently at Liam. Louis makes a little spinning notion with his hands and says, "Plausible deniability."

Liam spins around quickly, facing out toward the parking lot, noting that Harry is looking very conspicuously up at the sky.

The door rattles behind him and Liam turns around when he hears the door swing open. Louis digs a few flashlights out of his bag, distributing one to Jack, one to Harry, and one to Liam, before handing the bag to Zayn.

“Everyone has their assignments?” Louis asks and receives a chorus of affirmation from everyone except Liam, who feels just about as nervous now as he does when he realizes he’d forgotten to do his homework when the teacher asks for it the next day. Jack and Niall break off around the building, heading in the direction of the gymnasium, and Harry and Zayn retreat back outside and disappear around the corner of the building.

“I don’t have an assignment,” Liam states. Not that he really wants one.

“I know,” Louis responds, crooking an eyebrow. “You’re with me.” He nods off into the hallway and Liam follows, flicking on his flashlight. Louis stops at his locker, scrolls through the combination quickly, and pulls four cans of shaving cream, stacking them carefully onto the arms he gestures Liam to outstretch.

“What are these for?” Liam asks.

“Patience,” Louis censures and strides off down another hallway before stopping very suddenly at a particular locker. Liam recognizes it immediately. Louis leans against the locker beside it and taps the one in question, number 423. “Whose is this?”

“Mike Laraby’s,” Liam says slowly. “Why?”

“He gives you trouble?” Louis asks, his face pulling quickly into a frown when Liam doesn’t answer. “Jack says he saw Mike knock you into the wall last week. I thought that might have been where that bruise on your forehead was from. Does he do this often?”

“It’s nothing,” Liam says, which is what he always says because it’s never worth the trouble.

“Hmm,” Louis hums, observing Louis with a thoughtful look on his face. “That’s not going to work for me.” He turns to Mike’s locker and scrolls through the combination just as easily as he would scroll through his own. Liam’s eyebrows quirk up in surprise when he pulls it open and Louis answers the question Liam doesn’t ask, “Harry volunteers in the front office before school and they are not particular about watching him.”

He uncaps a can of shaving cream and shakes it well, as instructed.

“Louis. What about his books?” Liam says before Louis unleashes his righteous fury.

“What _about_ his books?” Louis says with a snort and begins to liberally spray the Barbasol all over the locker. Liam is horrified for a few moments before he realizes, watching the Tommo in action. He loves Louis for doing this. “I know you want some of this action, Liam Payne.”

Liam absolutely does. He plucks one of the cans from his arm and gets spraying, delighting in the absolute nightmare the white foam is wreaking all over Mike Laraby’s locker. They cover every inch of it, from the books stacked at the bottom to the top, where the jacket hook sits. They empty three whole cans before the sheer mass of shaving cream threatens to spill out onto the floor and Louis cries enough.

Louis slams the locker shut triumphantly. “We won’t even have to be there when he opens it. His screams will echo through the land and we shall know it is done and we have victory.”

“Okay,” Liam says around his smile.

Louis makes this face sometimes and it flutters between different emotions, but Liam thinks he’s got it figured out. There’s a little bit of second hand embarrassment, some pride, a little disbelief, but mostly delight. And Liam is sure this face is only for him and he’s not willing to share it.

Louis makes this face for Liam as they walk side by side out of the school, carefully closing the door behind them, and walking around the corner.

Zayn and Harry stand by the brick wall at the front of the school. Harry has his hand to his chin thoughtfully as the two survey their work: a massive red spray painted hand folded into the V for Victory sign. So these are the kids who prompt morning announcements about vandalism. Liam feels like he should have known.

“It’s good,” Harry assesses.

“Thank you,” Zayn answers.

“What is it for?” Liam asks.

“It’s a call for peace,” Harry says.

Liam considers this for a few moments. “I don’t know that vandalism is the best way to call for peace. What with it being illegal.”

Harry nods after his own moment of consideration. “That’s very fair.”

“It’s a little late now,” Zayn adds as he kneels down to stow the used paint cans bag in Louis’ bag.

“Don’t worry, Li,” Louis says, anger thrumming quietly underneath his voice. “I’ll end up cleaning it off the wall anyway. Keating will find a way to make this my fault.”

 _But it is your fault_ , Liam does not say. Because he knows by now about the grudge, the war waged between the two of them that sees both sides doing wrong, because Mr. Keating is wrong just as often as he is right about Louis and his antics. But Liam’s seen what Mr. Keating does to Louis, finds a way to get under his skin and find the places that hurt him most in order to poke at them. Louis never makes that leap to cruelty, but Liam thinks sometimes he’s capable of the leap. He worries that anger that sits under Louis’ cool surface could burst and Louis could say something or do something he can’t take back.

“I’ll be right back,” Liam decides quickly and runs into the building without waiting for any response. He still clutches the leftover can of Barbasol and he’s not entirely sure what he’s going to do with it.

He moves deftly through the hallways towards Keating’s classroom, trying to formulate a plan as he goes. He can’t. He probably should have asked for Louis’ opinion, but this is something he wants to do himself.

Keating’s door is unlocked. Liam approaches the special leather chair that sits behind his desk. All other teachers make due with the wooden ones the school provides, but this leather chair is Keating’s pride and joy. Liam doesn’t give himself time to second guess himself as he’s shaking the can, uncapping it, and spraying its contents all over the seat of the chair. It will take close to a miracle to get Keating to sit in it without looking, but at the very least the chair will be too soggy for him to sit in.

But as far as mischief goes, this isn’t particularly cunning, Liam thinks as he walks back to the front doors.

The beam of a flashlight crosses through Liam’s path and he nearly passes out with the sudden fright. Do people monitor the school at night? Or only on Halloween? Why didn’t Louis warn him? Maybe Louis didn’t know?

“Hey!” shouts the owner of the flashlight and Liam sets his feet racing as fast as his mind is, the can of shaving cream falling from his hand. The hollow noise of the can bouncing behind him harmonizes with the sound of his own footsteps and those of the guy chasing after him.

Liam careens out of the front doors, not bothering to close them, and rounds the corner to where his group of five are newly assembled, waving and shouting, “Go go go go go!”

“Fall back! To the safe house!” Louis shouts immediately and they all set off running in different directions.

Liam runs. Liam runs like his life depends on it, until he’s out of sight of the high school and then even further as if he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s in so much trouble, _so much trouble_. He’s going to get suspended or expelled and his parents will never look at him again. They’ll think he’s a bad kid and the years he’s spent trying to be less trouble than Ruth and Nic will be useless.

“Hey, Barry Allen, slow it down!” Louis shouts after him and Liam slows to a jog until Louis falls in stride with him. Louis lets loose a huff of laughter that’s more breath than voice, his eyes are lit up like he’s having the time of his life. Liam matches his laughter easily, all of his stress melting just at the sight of Louis. Louis takes a moment to double over on the sidewalk to catch his breath, hands on his knees and his back rising and falling slowly. The sweat at his temples threatens to leak down through his painted cat whiskers. Liam doesn't need a break, but he pretends he does.

“Don’t you think I’m more Wally West?” Liam asks.

“In what world is Wally West ever better than Barry Allen?” Louis asks, all offended with a scrunched up face.

 _Um, this one_ , Liam does not say.

“It’s this way,” Louis says, guiding them left at the next stop sign. So he was actually serious about the safe house? “You doing all right? Close call.”

“That was crazy. And amazing.” He scrubs at his face a little. “I’m going to get in so much trouble.”

“No, you’re not,” Louis says easily, he’s so sure.

“I’m not?”

“I’ll protect you.”

These kinds of things, Louis says them like they’re something small, like he’s not actively changing Liam’s life when he says them. Liam tries not to feel the weight of them sit directly on his shoulders.

“I can take care of myself,” Liam says haughtily because Louis has taught him well enough by now how to maneuver himself in situations like these.

“You wouldn’t last a day without me, Liam Payne,” Louis accuses, clutching at his heart with scandal.

“Lasted sixteen years without you. Exactly sixteen years, as a matter of fact.”

“And what have you got to show for it?” Louis says, poking at Liam’s chest.

“Absolutely nothing,” Liam answers like he’s supposed to.

“That’s right,” Louis barrels on, reaching up in a surprise attack to clamp his arms around Liam’s neck and pull him down. Liam walks on in a headlock by Louis’ side, squirming as Louis talks as though he hasn’t got someone pinned to his side. “Without me, they’d drag you into a room and shine a light on you. You’d sing like a canary on everything, from the shaving cream to the Kennedy assassination.”

“No, I wouldn’t!” Liam practically shouts, and he tries not to feel slighted at the question of his loyalty. He rolls himself free, nearly tripping over his feet, but Louis is there to steady him in a second, his arms on Liam’s hips.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Louis agrees and ruins the entire thing but removing his hands from his hips and treating Liam to an attempted jab to the stomach that Liam narrowly avoids. Liam lets loose a triumphant laugh of victory and Louis seems to consider this a ceasefire.

“What did you do when you went back inside?” Louis asks, like the thought just occurred to him.

“It was really dumb,” Liam answers with a shake of his head. “I just sprayed that can of Barbasol all over Keating’s leather chair.” He should have been able to think of something better. He glances over to Louis, but Louis isn’t next to him anymore, he’s stopped a few steps back with a look on his face that makes Liam think for half a moment that he’s in trouble. Because Liam realizes what he’s done. “I shouldn’t have done it. Oh god, you’re going to get in so much trouble because he’s going to think it was you, _of course_ he’s only going to think it’s you. He’ll kick you out of school and he’ll never believe me when I tell him I did it. I’m so sorry.”

Louis shakes his head lightly and joins Liam. He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Liam’s cheek. It’s different than any of the other light kisses to the cheek Liam’s received. Louis lingers longer than he ever has and it feels like it means more than it ever has. Liam knows he’s in a different kind of trouble when he has to fight the urge to turn his head and catch Louis' mouth.

Liam ducks his head a little and Louis walks forward like he always does, as if he’s done nothing life changing.

Liam wants to pretend he’s surprised about this revelation, but he thinks it’s always been there. He wants to be more than a friend, he wants them to belong to each other. He wants Louis everywhere. He doesn’t want to leave him behind when he runs to leave everything behind. He wants to run to leave everything but Louis behind.

Louis is an affectionate person is the problem. He sits in Jack’s lap and crowds behind Zayn and puts his hands on Niall’s face and holds Harry’s waist. And he kisses Liam’s cheek. So this could mean nothing.

Liam should be confused by how he feels but he isn’t and he shouldn’t want Louis but he does. Luckily he’s got just enough experience not going after the things he wants to keep all of this at bay.

The safe house turns out to be Niall’s dad’s bar, which doesn’t seem like a particularly safe place for a bunch of kids to hang out. Louis and Liam meet up with Niall at the back door. Niall nods up and Louis gestures to the trail of metal rungs leading to the roof.

“Up you get,” Louis says to Liam, who hoists himself up on the ladder quickly at the direction. “We’ll be there soon.”

Harry and Jack are already on the roof, lying on a blanket and staring up at the sky. Harry looks up at Liam and then leans up, a smile breaking onto his face.

“You made it,” Harry announces, which causes Jack to look up as well.

“What, were you taking bets?” Liam says.

“Of course not,” Harry says lightly, which means they were. Jack has this look on his face that says _I thought you’d snitch_. “Have a seat.”

When Liam sits on the blanket next to Harry, Harry licks his finger and rubs it a little on Liam’s cheek, which Liam tries very hard not to jerk away from. Harry is not his mom, but sometimes he thinks he is. Harry pulls his finger back to reveal a black smudge on it. Harry doesn’t say anything and Liam doesn’t say anything and they both know it’s from Louis’ makeup.

Harry wipes it all over Liam’s jeans in the next second, which causes a little bit of a scuffle, with Jack getting an elbow to the face, only ending at the sudden appearance of Zayn, who watches them amused from where he’s leaned against the metal structure bolted to the middle of the roof.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Zayn says with a small smile as he lights a cigarette. “Better than Saturday morning cartoons.”

“Sorry,” Liam says, although he’s pretty sure it was Harry’s elbow that did the damage.

“Yeah,” Jack dismisses, rubbing above his left eyebrow. He gives Liam a critical look, which really does nearly prompt Liam to defend both his and his elbow’s honor before Jack speaks. “How’d you get caught back there, anyway? Weren’t you with Louis?”

“He went rogue,” Zayn says, but the light in his eyes makes him look proud. Liam sends him a grateful smile.

“You stick to the plan, nobody gets caught,” Jack says, which is a fair enough point.

“We didn’t get caught,” Zayn points out.

Jack looks ready to say something else, but he quiets at the presence of Harry’s hand on his shoulder. Something passes between them and Liam would let it alone if he wasn’t so sure it was about him.

“What?” Liam prompts.

“Nothing,” Harry answers and Jack just shrugs and lies back down.

“Look, I can just leave,” Liam says, his face heating up with embarrassment. “If I’m making anyone uncomfortable I would rather just go.”

Being alone has always been preferable to being tolerated, to being with people he knows don’t want him there but are too polite to say anything about it. Being lied to is crueler than being ignored. He knows this too well and he doesn’t think he could handle it if that’s what’s happening here.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Louis’ voice says and the four of them turn to look to him where he’s stood by the ladder, two beers in hand. Niall pops up after him, clambering onto the roof with another bottle in his hand and a bottle opener in the other.

“What’s going on?” Niall says, looking between all of them. His sunglasses rest in his hair. Liam fights the urge to steal them and put them on, which means he's been spending too much time around Louis. He struggles to see this as a bad thing.

“Nothing,” Harry repeats. He shifts around on the blanket to make room for all of them to sit down in a small circle. Louis squeezes himself between Harry and Liam before they get the hint and shift to accommodate him.

Niall cracks open his bottle of beer before tossing the opener to Louis, who pops open his two bottles with practiced ease. Liam doesn’t ask how they were able to secure the beer, but he suspects mischief has something to do with it. Louis offers one of the bottles to Liam, who shakes his head.

“No, thank you,” he adds because his mom did teach him manners that apply even when declining to break the law. Well, breaking more laws than he already has tonight.

Louis shrugs and hands the other bottle to Zayn. He lifts his bottle, Zayn and Niall following suit, and toasts, “To our night of mischief. Mission accomplished. Proud of you boys.”

The first drinks are taken and then passed by Niall and Zayn to Harry and Jack, who raise theirs in toast before following suit. Liam snakes his hand over and steals Louis’ beer. He takes a tiny sip for reasons of solidarity, balks at the taste, and thrusts it back in Louis’ face. Louis chuckles and wraps his hands over Liam’s for a moment before moving to grasp the bottle back from him.

“Thanks for coming with us,” Louis says, only for Liam.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Liam asks, feeling like this whole night has been full of people doubting him. Like he hasn’t spent the last two months showing everyone that he’d do pretty much anything for Louis. And the others, of course. Louis _and_ the others.

“Haven’t your parents heard? I am apparently a ‘Bad Influence’.” Louis pulls a face, rolling his eyes and gaping his mouth to indicate exactly how ridiculous he finds this designation.

“You are definitely a bad influence,” Harry says reasonably.

“Well, you’re an asshole,” Louis snaps without heat.

Harry takes it in stride, knocking back a little beer and saying, “No, I’m not.”

“No, you’re not,” Louis says with a smile.

“I came because you asked me to, Tommo,” Liam says. _I’d do anything you ask me to_ , he does not say.

Louis wraps an arm around Liam and leans into him, Liam leaning in as well. He ignores how openly the other four are staring at them. He relaxes into the half-embrace. Until Louis takes this opportunity to pinch Liam’s nipple through his shirt, which actually is not a fun experience. Liam recoils, shoving at Louis, who holds up his hands in submission. Louis cackles and at least Jack and Niall are looking delighted as well.

“You’re an asshole,” Liam tells Louis.

“Yes, I am,” Louis says. He drapes his arm around Liam’s shoulder again and holds up another pacifying hand when Liam flinches preemptively. Liam catches hold of the hand draped over his chest anyway. Because he can never be too careful, as far as Louis is concerned.

“No, you’re not,” Liam says quietly.

Louis rests his head on Liam’s shoulder and Liam looks over and out at the rooftops of his small town. For all the mischief the night promised, it’s actually quiet, peaceful. It’s a perfect capstone to a great night, the six of them lying around comfortably as a chilly fall breeze weaves through them, joking and singing and storytelling. He likes it that every time he turns to sneak a glance at Louis, Louis is already watching him. Louis is making sure Liam is happy, taken care of, comfortable.

This is everything he’d wanted it to be since his birthday, when he’d spent the rest of the night contemplating what they wanted from him, what he could possibly give to them that they’d find valuable. They seem to just want him. They don’t expect anything from him--aside from, apparently, a light amount of vandalism.

He doesn’t need anything from them, either; he’ll take what he can get and give back as much as he can. And on the rooftop of Niall’s dad’s bar, he’s wrapped up in Louis and every inch of him is at peace.

\--


	5. December 18, 1976

_ _

_(You've Got a Friend - Carole King)_

* * *

_December 18, 1976_

Louis wakes again to another pair of eyes hovering closely to his own. Louis remembers where he is and decides it’s not worth the trouble. So he closes his eyes really tight, too tight for sleeping but just tight enough to send a message.

“C’mon, Tommo, it’s time to go,” Harry says gently, tugging at his shoulder.

Louis groans his best morning groan and sits up slowly. Every part of his body aches, whether it’s left over from the drinking or the shitty jail cell bed or the crippling anxiety Louis was wracked with for half the night, he doesn’t know.

Harry presses a bottle of water into Louis’ hands and Louis gratefully gulps down at least half of it. It’s heaven for his dry throat. Harry gets up from where he’s knelt by Louis’ cot and walks for the open cell door, Louis following numbly. He’s spent the last however many hours completely terrified of what will happen to him in the morning, so he’s trying to keep everything shut down.

“What time is it?” Louis croaks.

“Seven,” Harry says, opening the door to freedom for Louis and they pass a few questioning eyes as they walk down the grey corridor away from the cells.

“You monster,” Louis snarls, though there’s no heat to it.

“Did you want me to wait for a more reasonable hour to break you out of jail?” Harry casts an unimpressed look down at Louis. “Speaking of, why didn’t you call me at your mom’s as soon as you got here?”

Louis doesn’t really know, so he doesn’t acknowledge the question. He should have known, though, that Harry wouldn’t let it go. He pulls Louis to a stop in the middle of the open cubicle area where almost no desks are occupied. Louis scans them nervously anyway, even though he knows Harry wouldn’t do this if Liam was hanging around.

“You think you deserve it, don’t you?” Harry says quietly, his face pulled into a frown.

“It’s too early to be analyzed, Harry, please,” Louis says, pulling away and walking ahead of Harry out of the office that smells like stale coffee and ethical superiority up to the reception area.

He’s figuring there’s no paperwork to be filled out, as informal as this nice overnight vacation is. He’s living out the actual overnight cliché, the deputy throwing a drunk or two in a cell to sleep the worst of their tempers off. Liam isn’t Barney Fife and Louis isn’t ten anymore. It’s not amusing, it’s just a pain in the ass.

“I stole a beach towel and put it in with my luggage,” Louis tells the receptionist, a different lady from last night. “And the continental breakfast was dreadful.”

She looks confused, but Harry waves her off with a pacifying smile and a _sorry Barbara_. “Behave, Tommo,” Harry orders ineffectively. Louis flaps a hand at him, he really fucking hates being told that. “Why did you go with him?”

“Did it look like I had much of a choice?” Louis makes a face at him, the specific face he reserves for when Harry is being especially idiotic, and it comes so easy, like muscle memory.

“I saw you two, honestly, I wasn’t sure if you were in trouble or if you were going to have angry sex in the squad car,” Harry says with a shrug.

“I’ll go to hell and back before I let Liam Payne fuck me again,” Louis spits. The receptionist Barbara chokes on a sip of coffee before rising and hurrying out of the room. He probably shouldn’t have said anything quite so inflammatory as that in a public place, but there’s nothing to be done now. He turns back to Harry, who is the picture of unhappiness. “What?”

“Nothing,” Harry says and his frown deepens. “I owe Niall five bucks.” He leaves the station, turning for his car and Louis follows him, ignoring all of the implications of that little comment. The entire world is lit by streetlamps because even though Louis is awake, the sun couldn’t be bothered.

Harry cranks up the heat in his car as they idle in the parking lot. “So Jay doesn’t know. I’m leaving it up to you to tell her what you want. All I said was that you two left together. And.” He hesitates, wiping a bit of dust from the dashboard.

“And?” Louis prompts impatiently.

“She wasn’t very upset,” Harry says lightly, putting the car in reverse.

“What does that mean?”

“I think you know what it means,” Harry says, looking both ways before pulling out of the parking lot. Louis wonders when he got to be such a meticulous driver. Historically he’d been a maniac on the streets and only Louis could be trusted to cart the six of them around. Louis realizes there’d only realistically be four of them to cart around now.

Louis looks out the window, most specifically away from Harry, but there is a conveniently placed window, so he looks out that. The town stumbles awake around them as Harry drives the familiar route to Louis’ neighborhood. Louis ignores Harry and every piece of the situation even as they pull up into his driveway.

“Thanks for the ride,” Louis says, hand on the door handle. “And the jailbreak.”

“Louis, wait,” Harry says but doesn’t continue until Louis looks over at him. “You have a choice to make and I understand where you’re coming from, really, but--”

“Just say it,” Louis cuts him off. He feels like shit and he knows what’s coming from Harry, which is a solid minute of talking around his point before making it. He can handle it any other day, but not today.

Harry takes it in stride, pulling at his lip a little in the way he does while he’s considering saying something he knows is going to make someone angry. “You could seriously ruin Jay’s relationship with Liam and I’m asking you not to.”

“She doesn’t need him, she has me,” Louis snaps, not a little childishly.

Harry drops his eyes and says nothing. But Louis reads this well enough. _For now_.

“He threw me in _jail_.”

“Well,” Harry starts and he doesn’t need to finish.

“Fuck you, Harry,” Louis interrupts, throwing himself out of the car and slamming the door behind him.

He still doesn’t have a key on him and he’s not sure he should knock. Entering his own house shouldn’t be this hard and Harry is an asshole and the front door is unlocked anyway.

He finds Dan standing next to the hall closet and putting his jacket on.

“Louis,” Dan says with surprise.

“Dan,” Louis says carefully.

His mom, robed and tea-laden again, rounds the corner. “Louis,” she says with surprise, a scary echo. “Surprised to see you up and about so early. Time was, I could never get the two of you out of bed before nine.”

The assumption that he was with Liam burns. “Ma,” he complains, red faced and eighteen all over again.

Dan and Jay trade smiles before going in for a kiss.

“Dinner tomorrow night?” his mom says quietly, fixing Dan’s jacket collar.

“Of course,” Dan answers.

The scene is all too intimate, too close, too jarring still to see his mom with someone who isn’t his dad. Louis turns to stare at the wall until they’re done and Dan’s clapping a hand on Louis’ shoulder as he leaves.

“It’s early, still, I don’t want to confuse the twins,” his mom explains softly and Louis nods. He knows that it’s been about six months for them, which doesn’t feel early to him, but he wonders if her hesitancy is born from past mistakes with other guys. He spies a piece of wallpaper at the bottom corner of the hallway that could use gluing and focuses intently on it.

“Are you hungry? I could fix you something,” she offers.

“No, thanks, I’m fine.”

“I’ll make you some tea,” she says because Louis never gets away with wanting nothing. She always has to do something for him because that’s just what moms do. He follows her through the living room, which still has a few stray plastic cups and small plates laying around, into the kitchen. He sits at the table still adorned with picked through crackers, fruits, and pastries.

He remembers the last time he saw his parents together; they were in this kitchen the night before he left and they weren’t doing anything special. They leaned against the sink and chatted at each other as Louis watched Daisy and Phoebe color sheets of paper with crayons at the kitchen table. He doesn’t remember what they were drawing. Their drawings never seemed to make sense, but were displayed proudly on the refrigerator nonetheless.

It was a normal night by all accounts -- as normal as New Year's Eve could be anyway -- except that upstairs, Louis had already packed the green duffle his parents had bought him the one and only time he went to sleepaway camp over the summer. The duffle was stuffed with clothing, maps, dry food, and every scrap of money Louis had been saving from Christmases and birthdays. He would also never admit to digging through the sofa cushions for loose change, but he definitely did.

His parents weren’t laughing or smiling or kissing in that moment, they were just existing together. By all accounts, they were content.

“What happened with Dad?” Louis asks and his mom stills where she stands at the counter. Her hesitation lasts a brief moment before she continues fixing Louis his tea as though nothing happened.

“It wasn’t working,” she says. “It hadn’t been for a while, but we were trying to stick it out for the girls. That was a mistake, we were miserable and they knew it. It got to be too much stress, so we talked about it and that was that.” She sets the mug down in front of him, but he doesn’t touch it.

“He didn’t do anything? Something didn’t happen?” He’s confused, he doesn’t understand how things stop working. If there’s no problem, if they already work, shouldn’t they just keep working?

“No, darling, he didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes things just don’t work out. I know it doesn’t sound like much of an explanation, but it’s true.”

He knows better than to press the issue, no matter how much he wants to. His parents are smart and strong and love each other and he can’t understand how they couldn’t make things work. Unless.

“It wasn’t me, was it? I made things difficult for you by leaving,” he manages to say around his throat closing up.

“Oh, no,” his mom says, crumpling her face and nearly pulling him off his chair as she gathers him into a hug. “Don’t you ever think that, never, never.”

He’s always surprised by how fast she can make him feel so young. He’s gone and lived a whole life and grown too much, but in his mom’s kitchen, wrapped tight in her embrace, he feels so young. She’s sniffling a little when she pulls away, but she does it in a way like she doesn’t want Louis to see, so Louis pretends he doesn’t see. He’s doing the same thing.

“Is he still in town?” Louis asks, thinking he might have come last night if he was.

“He moved to Phoenix a few years ago, for his job. He calls the girls Sundays after dinner, we can get you on the list.”

“He calls once a week?” Louis asks, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.

“Long distance calls are expensive. Lou, he’s not the bad guy,” she says reasonably. “That’s enough of that talk, now. Lottie is taking the bus home tonight, she’ll be here in the morning. All my babies home for Christmas.”

“God bless us, everyone,” Louis cheers, earning a slap on the arm.

“How’s Liam?” she asks with a sly smile before rising to refill her cup of tea.

Louis takes her absence to have a small panic. He sees Harry beside him, repeating _I’m asking you not to_ and _for now_ and _she wasn’t very upset_. And he can’t do it.

She knew pretty much everything from the start, from the very first time Louis brought Liam around to the house. Louis could never keep secrets from her anyway and it only took one late night tea party/ambush before he was spilling everything to her. That he kind of loved Liam and wanted to be with him and how much it scared him. She was never anything but encouraging, even if his dad coped by never talking about it or acknowledging it. She turned their house into a safe haven when everywhere else Louis and Liam had to be just Really Good Friends.

She still wants them to love each other, and Louis doesn’t know if they can. He’s not even sure if he wants that too.

“We didn’t talk much,” Louis answers, which is technically not a lie.

“Oh,” she says shortly.

“God, ma, not like -- I fell asleep early,” Louis says, making a face at her. “On his couch. Alone.”

“It’s fine if that’s what you did. I’m a hip mom. I’m cool, you can talk to me. Ask me any questions.” She does a ridiculous little shrugging dance Louis either never wants to see again or wants to see every day of his life, he can’t decide.

“You’re an embarrassment,” Louis says. “Also I’m twenty-six.” He lets that speak for itself.

“Not for another week, old man,” she says, ruffling his hair and signaling the end of the conversation as she walks upstairs.

Oh, right, Christmas means birthdays, most specifically Louis’ on the 24th. He’s spent his entire life being told how excited he should be to have his birthday at the happiest time of the year, that he should be glad there’s always a party. As much as it’s the happiest time of the year, it also seems to be the saddest with the most potential for reminding a person just how lonely they are.

He jokes but he loves the idea of having his whole family--well, without his father--in the same house, filling it with laughter and love and familiarity. He actually thinks he aches for it.

Louis resolves to take a nap on the couch until the girls get up, but he pauses at the sight of the phone on the kitchen wall, the phone so old it’s gone from white to an ugly uneven yellow and the numbers are slowly rubbing off. He flicks his eyes to the page suspended on the fridge with a magnet for Myrtle Beach that his parents brought back from their fifteenth anniversary trip. Halfway down the page sits _Police Station (not for emergencies)_ and seven digits in the terrible chicken scratch that could only belong to Liam.

Liam’s made it to the page on the fridge and the celery inside the fridge and the coyness of his mom’s smile. He’s loved here, which is everything Louis had always wanted for him, a place in his family.

He rings the station and a lady greets him, the receptionist, he thinks.

“Can I get Harry?” he says, before thinking and adding, “The dispatcher?”

“He left about fifteen minutes ago but I think he’s coming back,” she says hesitantly. “Can I take a message?”

“Yeah.” Louis considers what he wants to say and decides, “Tell him I lied to my mother so he owes me a big one and I owe him an apology, so we’re square.”

“So… we’re… square,” she says carefully as she’s writing it out. “Whom may I say is calling?”

“He’ll know. Thank you,” Louis says and hangs up without waiting for a response.

He can’t find any rest on the couch. He lies restlessly, regretting ever having woken up this morning.

He is only able to escape everything after lunch when he takes the twins over to a park four blocks away to attempt to slide down the small hill on their metal saucers. Louis can see little paths of dead grass under the layer of snow, the traces of all the people who got here before them.

There’s not really enough good snow left to build much more than a two foot high snowman, but they give it their best go. The girls name him Samuel and attempt to steal Louis’ scarf to decorate him.

“He’s cold, Louis,” Phoebe reasons illogically.

“I’m cold. He’s made of snow,” Louis argues, the pinnacle of logic. “He’ll melt if you try to warm him up, that’s not very nice.”

“Please,” she whines and Louis gives in almost immediately.

He kneels down and engulfs about 80% of Samuel in the knitted green scarf. “You better appreciate this, Samuel,” he grumbles.

They make snow angels and Louis forgets his scarf at the park and he’s shivering so much his mom forces him upstairs to take a shower before he’s allowed to go back and get it. Which he never does.

Fizz says, “Would you pass the mashed potatoes?” to him at dinner, which feels like a victory.

He asks her about school and she says it’s fine and their mom mentions she runs varsity track as a freshman. Liam ran track, Louis does _not_ point out.

He’s so angry at himself that everything in his life seems to belong to Liam: his home, his family, his thoughts. He doesn’t even know when it happened, in spite of years of repressing him, of turning him into light scars that his eyes can glaze over when he looks at himself. He should have known better that Liam couldn’t be contained, at some point Liam had exploded all over the place and Louis can’t escape the blast.

After the twins go to bed at nine, Louis feels cooped up in his own home, too used to hopping place to place to fathom staying here for years. It’s barely been forty-eight hours.

Mary Tyler Moore argues with someone on the television that Louis half-watches with Fizz and his mom. Jay reaches out a hand to Louis’ knee, which he hadn’t realized he was bouncing until she stills him. He looks to her and she says, “I love you, darling, but you’re driving me a little crazy.”

“Sorry,” Louis says. “I think I’m going to go to Niall’s.”

“That sounds fun. Keep in mind how early your sister is coming home tomorrow and how you’re not allowed to be hungover.” She smiles sweetly.

“You coming, Fizz?” Louis jokes, rising to his feet.

She just blinks slowly at him. “I’m fourteen,” she says.

“So… no?” He gets a throw pillow to the face from his mom for that, which he takes as his cue to exit.

He opts to walk into town, freezing himself up just enough to appreciate how warm the beer will inevitably make him feel.

Horan’s is more crowded tonight, the crowd buzz subdued and the air thick with cigarette smoke. Louis sees Niall’s brother, who always manages to look downtrodden no matter what he’s doing, tending the bar. Louis is only a little disappointed until he hears the sounds of Simon and Garfunkel wafting forward from the back corner.

Niall’s got a guitar on his lap and he and Harry are halfway through giving “The Sound of Silence” a comedically earnest performance, complete with soulfully closed eyes and lullaby soft voices. It’s a heartachingly familiar sight, held over from summer nights in Harry’s backyard because Harry’s parents didn’t care if they drank beer, so long as it was watery shit beer and they drank it at home.

Liam sits beside them and he giggles -- it’s not laughter, just pure giggling -- his eyes nearly squeezed shut from the ferocity of his smile. The sight hits Louis like a sucker punch.

He’s stuck to where he stands, the thought of moving not occurring to him until the door opens behind him and a gruff, “Scuse me,” shakes him. He steps aside, casting a glance at the passing stranger before his eyes are pulled back to the end of the song.

He locks eyes with the young lady sitting next to Liam and it isn’t until she crooks a half-smile and a small wave at him that he recognizes she’s Jack’s little sister Eleanor. She looks far wearier than her nineteen years deserves, and that sits heavy on Louis.

He nods at her in salutation and she jerks her head in a _come here_. He shakes his head with a deprecating frown and throws a thumb at the door. She narrows her eyes and sets her jaw. Louis is about to retreat back into the cold when Niall becomes aware of their silent exchange.

“Tommo!” he shouts, waving a hand.

“Shit shit shit,” Louis whispers to himself, careful not to let his lips move.

Liam’s smile drops quickly as he whips his head around to face Louis, who finally resolves to shuffle over to them in defeat. On his approach, Louis recognizes this face on Liam, it’s his fight or flight decision-making face. Liam lands on flight, rising and throwing an apologetic grin to the group.

“Early night for an early morning,” Liam says, still clinging to an insincere smile.

Niall isn’t having it. “For fuck’s sake, Li, this is your celebration,” he complains before Harry, ever the mediator, cuts him off.

“Drive safe,” Harry says.

Liam swoops down to press a kiss to Eleanor’s cheek before throwing a good night to everyone. If asked, Louis wouldn’t say he is staring at Liam necessarily, but he definitely can’t stop watching him like he’s the walking talking personification of a train wreck.

“Don’t,” Louis mumbles, his mouth clearly not checking in with his brain. Liam raises his eyebrows in surprise and for one stupidly naive moment, Louis thinks Liam is going to stay. Liam works his face into a disappointed frown and backs away to the door.

Louis throws himself into the vacated chair next to Eleanor and picks up the hardly touched bottle of Miller High Life he knows belonged to Liam, tossing a good amount of it back.

“Fix this,” Niall says sharply, but Louis is surprised when he looks up to find that Niall’s order is directed at Harry with a threatening finger.

“Liam is your responsibility,” Harry pouts with the same petulant frown he’s used with efficiency since 1958 and Niall seems to back down. “I preached to Louis this morning.”

“Excuse me?” Louis growls because he’s sitting right fucking here. Harry winks at him anyway, because he’s irritating, but he’s also letting Louis know his apology is accepted. At some point, Louis is going to feel bad about purposefully playing on Harry’s aversion to confrontation. But it’s not today.

“They’re idiots,” Eleanor explains.

“I know,” he says, taking the time to scowl at the two of them before turning his attention to the only deserving person in this little cluster of people. “El. What is someone so classy as you doing in such a disreputable establishment?”

“Tommo raises a very valid point,” Niall adds.

“Pity, mostly,” she answers, picks at the fringe on the bottom of her sleeves.

“You don’t have a drink, do you need one?” Louis asks.

“She’s Lottie’s age,” Harry says like he wasn’t drinking at age sixteen.

“Oh, well, then, no drinks, no flirting with men until you’re fifty. You should march straight home, young lady, aren’t your parents worried sick?” Louis grouses sarcastically. If Lottie and Eleanor are anything like he remembers them, they’re little terrors in their own right who would laugh openly at the thought that Louis could tell them what to do.

“My parents are always worried,” she says flatly. “That’s part of the reason I go out.”

The amused smile slips from Louis’ face as he glances over to Harry and Niall. Harry has his eyes trained on his glass and Niall’s sharp look at Louis says everything he doesn’t. _Don’t go down this road_.

Louis doesn’t know where to go instead. The giant elephant in the room is practically obstructing his view of everything. Her brother went to war and died. Louis ran and lived. And he’s sorry Jack died, but he is not, for one moment, sorry he lived.

“On second thought, I will take you up on that drink,” she says, her expression daring Louis to say no.

Niall’s eyes do scream at him to say no and Harry’s eyes are just closed, like if he can’t see the situation, it isn’t happening.

“Yeah,” Louis says carefully. “What would you like?”

“Whatever you’re having,” she says, a terrible decision. The decision of a person who doesn’t drink enough to know their likes, who drinks for the sake of drinking or getting drunk, not because they crave a taste.

He slips out of the chair and up to the bar. Behind him, Harry and Niall strike up again, a ballad he doesn’t recognize.

“Hey, Greg,” he says and Greg nods morosely. “Two, uh…” He scans the metal advertisements suspended on the wall surrounding the bar. Nothing looks particularly appetizing. “Miller High Lifes, I guess.” Greg nods and ducks under the counter. “How’s life, Greg?” Greg shrugs as he sets two bottles down. “Great talk, man, thanks,” Louis says as he slaps down too many of his 37 American dollars on the bar before leaving.

“Cheers,” Eleanor says, taking the bottle, clinking it against Louis’, and tipping it back without waiting. She shakes her head quickly, swallowing hard, and says, “To the dead, I guess.”

Louis takes a drink. Niall cuts the song off abruptly, leaving Harry trailing into silence. Niall rests his guitar over his lap and pushes himself back from their table.

“Niall,” Harry mumbles, but Niall pushes himself away from the table. Louis doesn’t watch him go.

“So how was Canada?” Eleanor says blandly.

“Very nice,” Louis says, which is close enough to the truth. There were some supporters of dodgers giving jobs where they could, government assistance if you were lucky. But everything felt temporary there, which Louis thought he needed. He didn't want to put down roots because he didn't want to forget what he was leaving behind, who he was leaving behind. He didn’t want to live with the guilt daily, but he also didn’t want to forget.

Eleanor’s desire to talk seems to drop off then, only choosing to interact with Louis to ask him get her more drinks. Niall’s put himself back behind the bar to aid Greg as it gets busier and he won’t charge Louis for the three drinks he keeps bringing for the three of them, but he does scowl at Louis a lot. The drunker Louis gets, the less Louis cares.

“What celebration?” Louis asks Harry about two hours after it’s relevant.

“What’s that?” Harry mumbles, his eyes glassed over.

“You said you were celebrating Liam,” Louis clarifies.

Harry considers him for a moment, like he’s contemplating whether Louis deserves to know that sort of private information about Liam. “It’s just a work thing.”

So it’s a no and Louis can’t blame him. Louis doesn’t even know why he cares, so long as they weren’t toasting to Louis’ embarrassment

“Cutting you all off,” Niall announces, suddenly appearing beside them. He’s already dressed in his coat. “It’s time to go home.”

“Not going anywhere,” Eleanor says as she leans back into her chair and takes a pull from her pint like she’s proving a point.

“You might not go home, but we won’t serve you.”

“I’m a pretty girl in a bar full of people who know my dead brother,” she says coolly, her eyes narrowing. “I won’t have any trouble getting a drink without you.”

Niall’s face pinches with irritation, his mouth opening and snapping shut as though he’s thought better of trying to answer.

“I’m so sorry about Jack,” Louis moans, his head in his hands. He really bets everybody in town does know about Jack, knows they probably felt the loss as acutely. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You should have stopped him,” Eleanor says, low and venomous. “He’d have listened to you.”

“I know.” Louis reaches out for her hand, but she jerks it away. “I didn’t know he was going to enlist but if I did…”

“You’d have what?” Eleanor challenges. “Come back from Canada for a day? Found a way to call him from a payphone? Written a letter? You’d have had to stay to fix what was wrong with him.”

“Lay off, El,” Niall says gruffly. “Tommo, you’re coming with me.”

Louis doesn’t know what was wrong with Jack either, other than the incredible stupidity that told him he should sign up in the first place.

Niall tugs at Louis’ pants until Louis pulls himself up from his chair. He bids Eleanor good night and follows him and Harry loyally out of the bar. He’s more than a little tipsy.

“They give him a twenty-one gun salute?” Louis mumbles into Harry’s shoulder as the two of them stumble down the sidewalk, clutching each other so they don’t fall over because Niall sure isn’t going to be any help.

“What?” Harry asks sleepily.

“When the army sent Jack home to be buried, did they do the salute? Like you see on the news? Did they respect him?”

“Uhh,” Harry answers, which is no help at all. He looks over, wide eyed and panicked, to Niall.

“He didn’t want that,” Niall answers for him. “He wouldn’t have a military burial.”

Louis doesn’t think he’d want the pomp and circumstance either, for all he does enjoy being the center of attention. There’s something embarrassing about it almost, regarding attention, but also regarding his cause of death. Louis could never rationalize people making peace with the possibility of dying in war, let alone a war so fucked and pointless. Louis might be able to understand dying the American Revolution, but really, were the English so bad? He struggles to remember.

He wonders if Liam ever made peace with the possibility of dying at war. He wonders what Liam would have thought of in the moments before he died, if they would have been regret, if they would have been about Louis. It’s selfish to think that way, and not a little morbid, but Louis means nothing to him now. Just as Liam means nothing to Louis. Louis swears Liam means nothing to him now. Even if he can’t stop thinking about him.

\--


	6. December 24, 1967

_(Peaceful Easy Feeling - The Eagles)_

* * *

_December 24, 1967_

Liam’s current problem is he doesn’t know how to tie a tie. He actually has a number of problems today, but he has to face them all one by one, or else he’ll actually faint under the pressure. Liam has never actually set something on fire, but if he did, this tie would be the first to go. Which is a shame, because it’s a nice tie --a present from his grandparents for Christmas last year -- and he’d hate to see it reduced to ashes.

His dad is at the airport picking up Ruth. Liam should have asked before he left. Of all his friends, he thinks Zayn might be the most useful, so he flies down the stairs into the living room. He calls Zayn, talks to his little sister and then his mom, trading polite Merry Christmases and apologies for calling in case he interrupted their dinner, before Zayn finally gets on the phone.

“This is an emergency, Zayn, do you know how to tie a tie?” Liam unloads into the phone as soon as Zayn answers with a sleepy hello.

“What? Liam?” Zayn says on the other end.

“Yeah, it’s me, do you know how to tie a tie?”

“Kind of? Don’t your parents know?”

“My dad’s not here and he’s not coming back before I go to Louis’ house for dinner. Do you think you can explain it over the phone?”

Zayn is quiet for a few moments. Liam almost asks if he’s still there, if the line has been dropped before Zayn comes back with, “You’re going over to Louis’ house tonight?”

“Yes?” Liam isn’t entirely sure Zayn understands the gravity of this situation. He doesn’t have time to stall.

“But it’s Sunday.”

“Yes?”

“I’m confused.”

“Me too,” Liam says with a frown. “But I think for a different reason.”

“It’s just... Sunday dinner. Sunday dinners are for family only,” Zayn says slowly.

Liam hesitates. He knows none of the other boys are coming, but he figures this is just what Louis does. Like maybe it’s a rite of passage or something, or maybe Louis’ parents want to meet each of Louis’ friends. It did seem a little strange that he’d be going on Christmas Eve -- his mom wasn’t particularly happy about that -- but Liam hadn’t put much thought into it after he decided he desperately wanted to go _and_ it was Louis’ birthday and he wasn’t in a position to say no to Louis on his birthday.

“You haven’t been to his house for Sunday dinner?” Liam asks.

There’s a little bit of shifting going on on the other end of the phone. “Uh. No. I’m sure it’s fine,” Zayn says, his tone light like he’s trying to look over how he’s set a firestorm of anxiety ablaze inside Liam. “So you put the tie around your neck and hold the two ends out--”

“Wait, Zayn, have any of you been to his house for Sunday dinner?” Liam says, trying not to get a little hysterical. “Am I in trouble?”

Zayn chuckles lightly and Liam can practically see him shaking his head through the phone. “Only you would think you’re in trouble getting invited to dinner.”

“That’s not really an answer,” Liam huffs. As the anxiety rages, he begins to worry he’s going to sweat through his shirt before he even gets there. "Do you... Do you think he _knows_? Oh god, what if he finds out, he'll never want to see me again."

Zayn officially found out accidentally about three weeks ago about Liam’s giant, life consuming crush on Louis. It is the biggest of Liam’s many problems currently. Louis had spent half of their lunch period talking about an apparently wonderful girl called Hannah from detention and Liam had to excuse himself to the restroom before he did something more embarrassing than excusing himself to the restroom.

Zayn swears he had kind of figured Liam out from the start. Zayn swears Liam isn't at all subtle, but if he wasn't subtle, surely Louis would have noticed by now. Liam never asks Zayn what Louis has told him about Liam, he would never ask Zayn to betray Louis' trust. But Liam's life would certainly be easier if Zayn would.

Zayn doesn't get the opportunity to set Liam at ease like Liam suspects he wants to because his mom walks into the living room, effectively ending all public talk of one of Liam's other Big Problems.

“Liam, you have to get going or you’re going to be late,” she says. She takes one look at Liam with the phone in one hand and his tie in the other and she shakes her head too.

“I have to go, thanks for nothing,” Liam says quickly and hangs up, Zayn’s laugh echoing up from the receiver as he hangs up.

His mom crooks her head and ties his tie for him, carefully, methodically. “Your father never ties his own ties either,” she says and that makes sense. His dad is kind of a mess.

“Sorry,” Liam answers. Because he is also kind of a mess.

She tugs the tie up snug to his neck and smoothes it a little. “You look very handsome.”

“Thanks, mom,” he says quickly. He pounds back up the stairs to snatch the carefully wrapped present and coat on his bed and then thunders back downstairs to find his mom already in the garage. She hands him the keys to his dad’s rusty old pickup truck, which gives him pause. _Are you sure?_ he doesn’t ask.

“Don’t crash the car, be home at a reasonable hour,” she says and kisses his forehead. “Early night for an early morning.”

“Thanks, mom,” he repeats.

He has yet to drive a car by himself since he got his license a few months ago and it’s snowing lightly, so he’s incredibly nervous. This nervousness compounded with general Meeting Louis’ Family nervousness compounded with apparent Sunday Dinner nervousness has Liam about to fall apart as he rides down Doncaster Lane to pull to a stop on the side of the road by the Tomlinson mailbox.

He checks his hair in the rearview mirror and smells his armpits, though there’s nothing he can reasonably do about either. Then he walks the tortuous length of Louis’ driveway up to his door. He stares at the door instead of knocking, which is cowardly.

The door opens anyway and a little girl with wide eyes peeks her head around the corner. “Are you Liam?” she asks. “We are expecting Liam.”

“I am Liam,” he confirms, but she disappears with a scream the next second and the door opens wider to reveal she’s shrieking delightedly where she’s hanging up in the air by Louis’ side, caught by one of his arms.

“Were you peeking through the window, Fizz?” Louis accuses her.

“No!” she shouts, even though she definitely had to be. Liam isn’t going to rat her out.

“Are you going to invite our guest inside?”

“Please come inside,” she says, struggling a little. Louis puts her down and she scurries down the hallway and out of sight. Liam shuffles in and closes the door behind him.

Louis looks up at Liam for the first time, his soft smile crinkling the sides of this eyes. “Hey,” he says.

 _I think I might be a little in love with you,_ Liam does not say.

“Happy birthday,” Liam says instead. He holds out the present for Louis, whose eyes light up at the sight. Louis snatches the present and holds it protectively to his chest.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Louis says, but his face says Liam absolutely did have to do that. “Nice tie. Blue is your color.”

“Thanks,” Liam says, blushing down at it. He notes Louis is wearing one of his usual sweaters, the grey one that Liam likes the best and wishes he could borrow every day until Louis forgets it’s his. “My grandparents gave it to me.”

“Neat,” Louis says like it isn’t all that neat, grabs Liam’s hand to drag him down the hallway, and stops in front of a closet. Liam sheds his jacket and Louis hangs it up. Louis then runs a few fingers through Liam’s hair, possibly shaking off some stray snowflakes, definitely causing Liam’s own hands to shake. This is going to be harder than Liam thought it was going to be.

“Perfect,” Louis assesses, taking a step back to survey his work and Liam flushes with the compliment, even though it’s more Louis congratulating himself than praising Liam.

The rest of Louis’ family are spread out between the kitchen and the living room, which are open to each other. Fizz sits with the twin babies in the living room, holding toys up for them and then jerking them away when they reach for them, causing the twins to gurgle in what Liam assumes is a happy tone. The three are watched carefully by Louis’ father. Louis’ other younger sister hops around the kitchen, trailing behind each step her mom takes. Looking at each of them, Liam realizes with horror that he is extremely overdressed for what appears to be a very casual dinner.

“Dad,” Louis says and his dad looks up. “This is Liam.”

His dad rises slowly from the couch, makes his way to Liam, and shakes his hand. “How’re you doing, son?”

“I’m very well, thank you, Mr. Tomlinson. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Liam says, ignoring the snort Louis makes at Liam’s formality.

“Mark, please,” his dad answers. “I’m easy to impress. It’s the boss you have to worry about.” He throws a nod to Louis’ mom.

“Any tips?” Liam asks.

Mark shakes his head solemnly. “You’re on your own with that one.”

Liam swallows around that one and tries to mask his fear. Louis just laughs, of course he does, and grabs Liam by the shoulders to steer him towards the kitchen.

“She’s going to love you,” Louis says directly into Liam’s ear, quiet like it’s a secret, and Liam swallows around that too.

Louis’ mom brightens as soon as she sees the two of them and that’s a small relief. She sets down the towel in her hands and walks over to embrace Liam.

“Liam, love, thank you for coming,” she says warmly and Liam melts into the hug. She pulls away and rests her hands on his shoulder, looking him over. It’s a critical once over, he’s seen Louis do it too many times to count. Judging by the smile he receives, he figures he passed. “You look very nice. I wish everyone else would dress for the occasion.”

Liam flushes when Louis snorts again. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Tomlinson,” he says.

“Call me Jay,” she says and pats the head of her daughter. “This is Her Majesty, Princess Lottie.”

Liam remembers Louis saying something earlier this week about Lottie recently developing a very strong interest in King Arthur. Lottie curtsies, so Liam bows deeply in return. “Your highness,” he says.

“Peasant,” she greets with what Liam guesses is an English accent, and Liam is a little in love with this family too.

“Are you having a good Christmas so far?” Jay asks, moving adeptly through a number of cooking related tasks at a single time. Liam tries not to get lost in watching her.

“Very good, thank you. Louis and I can help you, if you like,” Liam offers. He can’t actually cook to save his life, but he is particularly good at following other people’s instructions.

Louis’ quiet “Speak for yourself” into Liam’s ear goes thankfully unnoticed by Jay, who says with a smile, “Louis can’t touch anything, he can’t be trusted. But we can discuss your qualifications, Liam.”

“No, he’s mine, back off,” Louis says, taking hold of Liam’s shoulders, the wrapped present digging into his back a little. It’s awkward, but Liam doesn’t say anything. He’s too busy echoing _he’s mine_ all around his head. “We’ll be in my room.”

“Five minutes,” Jay says as Liam is being steered out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Louis pushes him up the stairs a little firmer when Liam stops to coo at what he decides immediately is his favorite picture suspended on the wall over the stairs. It’s a tiny Louis, maybe five or so, perched on a wooden block, laughing at something off camera, dressed in a little sweater and a floppy baseball cap. Even as a kid, he still managed to look like he’s up to no good.

Louis’ room has enough space for his twin bed, a nightstand, and a closet. Louis flops onto his bed, setting the present on the nightstand, and Liam studies the walls covered in newspaper clippings and magazine clippings and a few photos of his friends and family. He thinks about how much his mom would lose it if she saw the amount of tape Louis has on the walls, shouting about the safety of the paint.

As he works his way further along the walls, which seem to be organized chronologically, Liam is surprised to find himself, to the right of a poster for _Help!_ and underneath a pencil sketch Zayn had made of Louis kicking his soccer ball in the air. Liam is in a candid picture he’s never seen before: it’s from Niall’s birthday, he recognizes that much. Harry and Jack are in the picture too, but if Liam is selfish about it, he seems to think he’s the focus of the picture. He’s in the picture next to it as well, a group shot of the six of them he remembers was taken by Niall’s older brother.

He also remembers being slightly concerned to be dragged into this group picture just two weeks after having been introduced to everyone. He doesn’t worry about that anymore.

“So that’s my whole life there,” Louis says, breaking the silence, and Liam starts a little.

He turns to Louis, a little embarrassed, because it was kind of like peeking into who Louis is without asking. “Sorry,” he says.

“I’m not.” Louis sits himself up on the bed, but he’s still on the bed and the actual worst idea right now is for Liam to sit on Louis’ bed. “I put them up to surround myself with the things I love. I don’t hide, I want to share them.”

“Sounds nice,” he says and he doesn’t mean it to sound as sad as it does. The walls of his room are empty because his mom doesn’t want tape or nails to ruin the paint. Sometimes Liam thinks it would be nice to have something that just belongs to him, something that looks like it’s his.

“You’re an idiot,” Louis responds, which is his favorite term of endearment for Liam. “You can have anything you want if you’re just willing to fight for it.”

 _I think I’d fight for you_ , Liam does not say. He leans back against the wall and scratches at the back of his neck, just to give himself something to do. Because it’s not easy to just be himself, unabashed and open. He wants to be and he’s trying to, but he’s not Louis.

“Feel free to relax at any moment,” Louis says. “I’m getting nervous just looking at you.”

“I don’t mean to be nervous.”

“Why are you? My family are all talk, they’re not really that scary,” Louis says, rolling his eyes.

“Like you,” Liam says with a smile.

“Incorrect. I am all bark _and_ all bite.” He holds a hand out for Liam, who hesitates before taking the hand in his and allowing himself to be led onto the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“I just want to make a good impression,” Liam answers and considers chickening out for a brief moment, but he really has to know. “Also I called Zayn and he was surprised that you invited me over for a Sunday Dinner because nobody else has come over for dinner on a Sunday, apparently, least of all your _birthday_ dinner as well, so that all is just kind of… making me a little crazy, honestly.”

Louis raises his eyebrows high and nods slowly. “You have a lot going on up there.”

That’s not much of an answer. “Well, you know me.”

“I do.” Louis nods to back up his affirmative.

Louis seems to think he’s saved from answering when Fizz bursts into the room to announce dinner is served. Fizz jumps onto the bed and attaches herself to Liam’s back.

“Giddy up!” she shouts, so now Liam is a horse. He can do that. Louis looks delighted so Liam whinnies ridiculously. He loops his arms around her legs and pulls himself up from the bed slowly.

The trip downstairs is touch and go, with Liam slowly creeping step by step because he’s never given a piggy back ride, let alone one going down the stairs. Mark puts a leaf in the middle of the kitchen table as Jay prepares bowls and plates. Liam whinnies again and kneels to the floor so Fizz can jump off easily.

“Good boy,” Louis says and pats him on the head. Liam sticks his tongue out at Louis because he is not actually sixteen years old, and Louis responds with crossed eyes and a goofy grin because he is not actually seventeen. He grabs the table setting and Liam helps him set the table without asking.

Once the table is laden with food and the twins are seen to and everybody is seated (Jay and Mark at the head, Liam and Fizz on one side at Fizz’s insistence, Louis and Lottie on the other), Liam notes everyone looks to Jay in anticipation.

“Check in,” she announces, smiling at them. “Today I feel grateful to have my family gathered at this table.” Liam notices Louis mouthing along with her _gathered at this table_. He passes a smile to Liam across the table. Liam’s still not sure what’s going on, but he goes with it.

She continues, “I won ten dollars at Bingo on Tuesday, which was exciting. And I am happy there is no food spilled on the floor or down anyone’s shirts. Yet.”

She looks to Louis, who says, “Earlier this week, I beat my high score at pinball, so that was pretty great.” He puts a finger to his chin to pretend to think about it. “Oh, today’s my birthday, so that’s pretty neat, I guess.”

“And?” his mom prompts when he doesn’t continue.

“My third thing is Liam’s here,” he says quickly. He turns to Lottie to indicate it’s her turn, which Liam is thankful for because his face feels blistering red. Liam stares hard at his plate and tries to fight his pleased smile.

He gets it now, it’s kind of like Thanksgiving where everyone sits around a table and says what they’re thankful for. And Louis is thankful for Liam. Liam ranks right up there with pinball and his birthday. What a place of honor, he thinks with a smile. It’s typical of Louis to undercut something sincere with something ridiculous, just so he doesn’t get caught being embarrassingly earnest. Liam is only ever embarrassingly earnest and he knows this because Louis tells him all the time.

“Sir Lancelot returned from the war,” Lottie says promptly, the accent still holding strong. “Antony cleaned out the moat. And I’m really excited for cake. Daddy?”

“I don’t have to go to work tomorrow, which makes me very happy,” Mark says. “We’re developing a very exciting type of tape, the chemical details will thrill and astound you. First we looked at the mixture for the adhesive we were using--”

A chorus of protests erupts around the table, Louis particularly loud and vibrant, his hands waving, his face scrunched with impatience. Liam wavers between finding this hilarious and finding this a little mean. Mark just wants to tell the story. He settles on hilarious, giggling at the sight of Fizz throwing her head up and making a terrible groan.

“Okay, okay,” Mark says, holding his hands up in submission. He looks very used to this sort of mutiny.  “And I’m also excited for cake.”

“I like presents and I like green beans and Liam is my new horse!” Fizz says quickly like she’s spent all this time thinking about what she was going to say and says it all at once.

“He's a regular Mister Ed,” Louis says.

“I don’t think I like that comparison,” Liam says, but his smile betrays the serious tone he’s attempting.

“I think you should feel complimented,” Louis says primly, raising his eyebrows. “Mister Ed is a genius. You go right to the source and ask the horse, and he’ll give you the answer that you endorse.”

“He _is_ always on a steady course,” Liam admits, finishing the lyric.

“Like I said, complimented.” He has the glint in his eyes that he gets when he realizes he’s won.

Jay clears her throat lightly and Liam and Louis come out of whatever little world they’ve fallen into to remember that there is in fact more than just the two of them at this table. Liam looks up with apologetic eyes, but Louis says, “It was Liam’s fault.”

Jay looks unimpressed and unconvinced over at her son before turning her gaze directly to Liam. “Would you like to check in, love?”

“Oh, um,” Liam begins intelligently and scans the table to find everyone somewhat patiently turned to him. He is sitting directly between them and their Sunday dinner while Liam is floundering for what he’s supposed to say or do in this instance. “I met Louis on my birthday. And he came over to my house to celebrate with me. And Niall, Niall also came. You guys know Niall, right? I mean, of course you do. Anyway, um. It was great. I kind of hoped we could become friends because I thought he was cool. And we did become friends and it’s been better than I hoped for, really. He makes me feel appreciated and liked and I have all these great new friends and I feel really good. So I’m really grateful Louis picked me and came over to eat my birthday cake. Because, I guess, now I get to eat his.” Liam ends with a shrug.

Nobody says anything, they all keep staring at Liam a little, except for the twins, who don’t seem particularly aware that anything is going on in their little playpen in the corner. Louis looks distressingly passive for having the most expressive face Liam’s ever seen on a person. Liam thinks he may have overstepped a boundary. He tried his best not to say anything inappropriate or anything that would betray his secret. Jay is smiling, at least, but the way she says nothing makes Liam think he shouldn’t be finished.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t really sure what the rules were?” he chances.

“That was just fine,” she says softly, patting Liam’s hand. “Very nice. Thank you for checking in.”

Dinner starts then with the casual clinking of silverware and requesting of specific foods to be passed along the table. Liam helps scoop a generous amount of green beans onto Fizz’s plate at her request. At some point during the first few minutes, Louis finds a way to hook his foot under Liam’s ankle and leaves it there, propping Liam’s leg up a little. Liam smiles down at his plate and tries not to think anything of it.

Jay wheedles out of Liam more information than he possibly thought he could be able to share, stories about his parents (Kathy and Jim) and his childhood (not that interesting, really), what he wants to be when he grows up (a fireman, possibly, or maybe he’ll join up with his dad’s business like his dad wants him to), how he’s doing at school (mostly B’s, a C in English that’s killing him), and what he asked of Santa for Christmas (he forgot to write a letter but he doesn’t want anything more than he already has).

After dinner is over and the talk has cooled, Liam helps carry plates into the kitchen as the girls run off back into the living room. Liam’s eye catches on the piece of paper suspended on their refrigerator with a little shell magnet from Myrtle Beach, it’s a list of emergency contacts. There’s the numbers Liam would expect: the police, Mark’s work, family doctors, grandparents. At the bottom, underneath where Louis’ mom has neatly written Harry’s, Jack’s, Zayn’s, and Niall’s phone numbers, there sits Liam’s phone number scrawled messily in Louis’ handwriting.

He doesn’t know what it is about his phone number sitting on a list of contacts Louis’ parents would call in the event of an emergency, but it hits him hard.

Jay takes little to no convincing at all to agree to Liam’s offer to have him and Louis do the washing up. He knows well enough that Louis does the dishes regularly, anyway, Jay looks exhausted, and the twins are beginning to get fussy.

“But it’s my birthday,” Louis grouses dramatically.

“ _Your_ birthday. I did all the work. Do I get presents? No,” Jay grouses right back, tossing a dishcloth into Louis’ face.

Liam ends up doing most of the work, what with Louis taking too much time to apparently attempt to blind Liam permanently by flicking suds at his face.

“My mom likes you better than she likes me, I think,” Louis says, leaning against the sink, the hem of his grey sweater soaking up some of the water he’s splashed everywhere, serves him right.

“Serves you right,” Liam says, carefully balancing a pot onto the stack of slowly drying dishes.

“I don’t think I mind, actually.”

“Is that why you asked me to a Sunday dinner? You’re trying to get me adopted? My parents will probably have something to say about that.”

“Not adopted,” Louis says, which makes no sense at all.

Liam sighs deep as he pulls the plug out of the sink and moves to begin towel drying the dishes before Louis stops him, hand curling around Liam’s wrist.

“They’ll air dry, it’s fine,” he says, dragging Liam into the living room. He begs off watching Ed Sullivan with the rest of them, which his parents grant until it’s time for birthday cake, and then he drags Liam up the stairs and back into his room, closing the door behind them.

Liam stands against the wall again as Louis seats himself on his bed again. Louis carefully picks up the present from his nightstand and crooks a questioning eyebrow at Liam.

“Yeah,” Liam says quietly.

Louis pats the bed next to him, the look on his face communicating that Liam doesn’t have a choice but to join him. So he does. He feels his heart thumping in his chest a little, which he hopes isn’t audible over the sound of Louis ripping at the paper to reveal the frame underneath.

Louis’ breath seems to catch in his chest staring down at the present, his eyebrows furrowing so much Liam thinks for a moment that Louis doesn’t understand what it is, or worse, he doesn’t care.

“It’s _Showcase #4_ , which is the first appearance of Barry Allen as the Flash,” Liam explains.

“I see that,” Louis says shortly and his eyes won’t leave the little red Flash who looks like he’s jumping out of a film reel on the cover.

“Robert Kanigher is one of the writers, he signed it.” Liam points, just to drive it all home, how much this present means to Liam. Because this is their thing, isn’t it? Barry Allen. It’s definitely a thing.

“Yeah.” Louis nods slowly. “I don’t think I can accept this.”

Liam pauses for a moment, his stomach dropping to the floor. He’s found some way to embarrass Louis. “Why not?”

“How did you get this?” Louis asks, which is not an answer.

“I wrote a few letters to some comic book stores and one of them in New York had this, so they mailed it to me.” It was nothing, a week’s worth of work at most, and he had Zayn’s help researching where to write.

“It’s too much.” Louis sets it on his nightstand, pushing out the leg so the frame sits up and stares at them. Louis seems to stare back in awe.

“It’s not enough,” Liam admits. Louis gets a little touchy about Liam buying him dinner or taking him to the movies because Liam’s parents are doing a little better than Louis’ are. Liam refuses to look at it that way.

“There’s nothing I can give you like this.” Louis looks up at him finally, the frown still staining his face. Liam hates the frown, he wants never to see it again.

“I don’t want anything back, that’s not…” Liam fixes a hand to the back of Louis’ neck and rubs softly, his standby move from his first foray into returning the affection he received from his new friends a few months ago, an action Louis always responded positively to. “If it’s really too much, I’ll just take it home, we’ll pretend like I didn’t get you anything and you can just call me a great disappointment, it’ll be funny. I don’t mind.”

“You are _not_ a great disappointment,” Louis says firmly. He leans in and kisses Liam’s cheek and Liam remains as still as he’s taught himself to be. Except Louis doesn’t lean back like he usually does, he rests his forehead against Liam’s temple. And Liam knows what he’d ask for in return.

He turns his head a little to rest his forehead against Louis’. Louis, who’s breathing fairly audibly at this moment, whose eyes are closed. Liam decides he needs to ruin it all.

Liam rests his hand at Louis’ chin, pulling his head up a little, and moves to connect their mouths. They sit there together for a few moments, their mouths connected, because it’s not really much of a kiss, because Liam doesn’t really know what he’s doing and Louis doesn’t seem to have any interest in responding at all. So Liam pulls away, an apology on his lips, but Louis’ eyes are wide and shining at him and all thoughts leave Liam’s brain.

“Oh, thank god,” Louis whispers before pushing back into Liam’s face, grabbing a handful of his hair. Liam makes a surprised little noise, but it gets swallowed up by Louis.

This is a kiss, _it’s a kiss_ , it’s Liam’s first kiss, and he doesn’t think he has the hang of it, but Louis certainly has. So in this kiss, like in all things in their lives, Liam lets Louis take charge and Liam tries to keep up as best as he can. He can’t really focus on what’s happening -- there’s some good lip movement, he likes lip movement, and when Louis’ fingers scratch against Liam’s scalp, Liam kind of thinks he could maybe die of happiness. There couldn’t really be stars exploding behind his eyes and an orchestra swelling in his ears, but there might as well be.

Before long, Liam finds himself out of breath, practically in need of gasping, completely unaware that he’d been holding his breath. Louis senses it and reluctantly detaches himself from Liam’s bottom lip, which he had caught between his teeth.

 _I want to kiss you forever_ , Liam does not say as they catch their breath.

Louis huffs a little laugh and repeats, “Thank god.”

“I want to kiss you forever,” Liam actually says and he doesn’t even regret it.

“I could go for that,” Louis says, running his hand from Liam’s hair down his neck and settling on his chest, absently rubbing his thumb up and down.

It hits Liam then, this whole thing is _happening_ and it’s not just a dream interrupted by Liam’s alarm clock before it gets to the good part. It’s Louis staring at Liam how Liam’s always wanted him to, with excitement and happiness, and yes, okay, lust. It’s Liam acting on every impulse he’s fought for months because he thought this could never happen, they could never happen.

“Where’d you go?” Louis asks and Liam focuses on him again, ashamed that he could have torn his attention away from Louis for a moment.

“I’m here. I just. You kissed me.” Liam bites down on the smile that threatens to overcome his face for a moment before he realizes he doesn’t have any reason to. Louis wants him, which is incredibly convenient, considering how much Liam wants him back.

“You kissed me first,” Louis points out.

“I like you so much,” Liam breathes out, completely unable to hold it in any longer. He doesn’t have time to be scared or be worried or consider the consequences.

Louis just shakes his head with awe. And Liam loves that he's made Louis awestruck. “You have no idea.”

“And I’d like to kiss you again,” he says like a secret, but he’s pretty sure everybody in Louis’ neighborhood probably knows.

“Now?” Louis says, pulling a surprised face.

“Ideally.”

“Yeah, all right,” Louis says and practically attacks Liam this time.

Louis’ aggressive now that the hesitancy is gone, claiming every inch of Liam’s mouth as his own and Liam willingly transfers ownership. Louis pushes at his shoulders a little, scooting Liam up further onto the bed, his back resting over the sheets. Liam doesn’t even fight the shudder that overtakes him when Louis settles half onto him to resume kissing.

The sound of laughter drifts upstairs, which causes the thought of getting caught by Louis’ parents to occur to Liam for the first time. Liam fights for a solid minute to pull away from Louis long enough to say, “Your parents are downstairs.”

Louis hums a little and mumbles against Liam’s mouth, “They’re not invited.”

“Your parents… are _downstairs_ ,” Liam repeats.

“Then we’ll have to be _quiet_ ,” Louis says insistently and kisses him again. They move quietly against each other, completely unable to detach, for an immeasurable amount of time, and this is the best Liam’s felt in his entire life. They trade little satisfied noises back and forth, which turn into little desperate noises, which turn into no noises at all at the sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis hisses, practically throwing himself onto the other side of the bed. He chucks a pillow at Liam, who presses it very quickly to lap just in time for the door to fly open.

It’s Fizz again, catching them red-faced and panicky, and she shouts, “Louis, it’s time for cake, _hurry up_.”

“Pushy,” Louis says. “Give us a minute.”

“Or more,” Liam mumbles.

She pouts. “You have to hurry or daddy says we’re not going to wait for you.”

“You’ll wait all night,” Louis says, pointing a finger and narrowing his eyes at her. “I have to have my birthday wish. You know the rules.”

Fizz heaves a long suffering sigh Liam is absolutely convinced she learned from Louis before turning on her heel and stomping out of the room. Liam watches her go to be certain she isn’t coming back until he turns back to Louis, who’s leaning back against the headboard. He gives Liam a critical once over and looks satisfied with his outcome. Liam knows he must look like a mess, shirt all wrinkled, hair ruffled, tie astray. Liam can’t think about what it does to him that Louis likes him this way, made him this way.

Liam laughs because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“We need cake,” Louis says with a chuckle.

Louis’ family waits for them in the kitchen, they’re all circled around the kitchen table and the cake is already adorned with seventeen lit candles. They launch immediately into singing “Happy Birthday,” Liam joining in quickly and boisterously. He reattaches his hand to Louis’ neck, squeezing when Louis lifts his hands to conduct the end of their song.

“Thank you, thank you so much!” Louis cheers, treating them to a round of applause.

“Make a wish,” Jay says.

Louis considers his wish, then leans over purposefully. Liam tries hard not to watch him too closely, admiring the curve of his back. And other parts of him. Louis sucks a deep breath in and, with a hand to his chest, he blows out the candles in one go. He straightens and looks directly at Liam, his eyes twinkling in the soft kitchen light.

“What did you wish for?” Fizz asks.

“If I tell you, I won’t get it,” Louis says and then winks at Liam. Liam kind of hopes he’s Louis’ wish. If he is, then Louis’ already got him.

They eat the cake standing around the table, all thoughts of Ed Sullivan forgotten. Jay has to stop Fizz from attempting to feed one of the twins a slice of cake and Liam has to stop Louis from trying to rub the red frosting on his face. Liam counts down the moments until he can sneak back upstairs with Louis. He tries to feel bad about it, usurping Louis’ time on his birthday when he should be spending time on his family.

But… he doesn’t feel bad about it at all. Neither does Louis, judging by how quickly he thrusts his empty plate down onto the kitchen table and drags Liam by the tie back upstairs. Liam still has his plate and fork in his hands and struggles not to tip some of the cake on the floor or the stairs.

Louis takes Liam’s plate and sets it carefully down by the framed _Showcase #4_ then pulls Liam close _._ He doesn’t kiss Liam, just stands as close as he can to him. Liam knows he has to explain himself to Louis so Louis knows exactly where he stands.

“It’s just…” Liam struggles to find the appropriate words. “I don’t think there’s anyone else for me.”

“Good,” Louis says. “I don’t like to share.”

Liam kisses him then, or tries to. He hits the left edge of Louis’ mouth instead of full on, but he tries to play it off like it was intentional, tracing a line from the edge until he connects with all of Louis’ lips. It’s harder than it should be because Louis can’t stop laughing at him.

“I’m trying to kiss you. Do you think you could stop laughing at me?” Liam pouts and Louis gets a few more giggles in before he stands still, puckering his lips expectantly.

Liam falls into him easily, lacing a hand through Louis’ hair and getting a positive response from this move. Liam still needs a lot of practice at kissing, though, which he does not particularly mind at all.

Fizz bursts into the room without knocking for the third time, and this time she announces it’s her bed time. They jump apart quickly, Fizz doesn’t seem focused on them at all. Thank god for the innocence of small children, Liam thinks.

“Good night,” Louis chirps, biting on a finger to keep from bursting into laughter.

“Pleasant dreams,” Liam adds, trying not to sound as completely mortified as he feels.

“Mama says I should say it was nice to meet you,” she says.

“I bet Ma said to leave us alone,” Louis corrects.

Fizz scowls at him, which means that’s exactly what Jay said. “ _Good night_ , _Liam_ ,” she says very specifically.

“Good night, Fizz,” Liam answers. “It was very nice to meet you too.”

As soon as the door closes safely behind Fizz, Liam slumps against the wall with a groan, scrubbing at his face, and Louis lets his laughter loose.

“I think I need to get a door that locks,” Louis says between giggles.

“I’d appreciate that.”

Louis presses himself to Liam, pinning him to the wall, and pecks him a few times on the mouth.

“I have to get home,” Liam says, because if they start up again without finishing, Liam will actually burst apart into a million pieces of frustration. His whole family will be waiting for him, he’s taken all night with Louis, and he can’t stand it if he’s disappointed them.

“Stay,” Louis says, before latching onto Liam’s neck and bruising it mercilessly. Liam lets it happen, he wants proof. He belongs to Louis and Louis wants him to. Liam stays until Louis leans back to inspect his work.

“I have to get home,” Liam repeats softer.

“Why?” Louis whines.

“Because my mom is already mad that I’m here on Christmas Eve.”

“Surely she’s not still awake and waiting for you,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes.

Liam can’t explain it, but he can’t prolong his stay. He’s come to dinner and made Louis happy, he’s gotten several kisses and made himself happy, and now he has to go home early and make his mom happy. For a moment he doesn’t think Louis is going to let him go, and the anxiety creeps in, twisting his stomach with a different kind of heat.

“Please,” he says and Louis finally nods. “Happy birthday.”

“Merry Christmas,” Louis says with a smirk. “God bless us, everyone.”

Liam kisses him once more just because he can -- it’s not a particularly good kiss because he can’t stop smiling, but it’s a kiss nonetheless -- before he forces them both out of the room and downstairs to collect Liam’s coat from the closet. He says his goodbyes to Louis’ parents, thanking them profusely for dinner and the wonderful company. Louis follows Liam outside into the cold without a jacket. Liam won’t let him follow too far, stops him just outside the door.

“Thank you,” Liam says, resting his hand on Louis’ neck and running a hesitant thumb across his jaw. “Thank you for letting me be a part of your family tonight.”

“You’ll always be family,” Louis says and presses a kiss to Liam’s cheek.

There Louis goes again, setting Liam’s whole world on fire with the simplest of sentences. Louis is too much and Liam doesn’t even know how to reciprocate and he doesn’t think he can.

He settles on a smile and another thank you and a light kiss of his own before he gathers enough strength to tear himself away. He has to jog down to his dad’s pickup truck just so he doesn’t lose his resolve to leave. The truck roars to life, heat is probably a pipedream at this point. As Liam drives away, he sees Louis watching him, shivering, from the front door, barely visible in the light from the streetlamp.

Liam presses a little on the bruise on his neck, reminding himself again how real this is. He’s not sure his life can get any better than it is right now, but he figures it probably will. That’s the promise Louis holds for him, that’s what Louis’ been doing for him since the first day they’ve met.

\--


	7. December 19, 1976

_(Misty Blue - Dorothy Moore)_

* * *

_December 19, 1976_

_Fuck fuck fuck_ , Louis thinks through the haze of his hangover, his head spinning from the velocity at which he jolted up and awake.

He doesn’t remember much but he knows he’s at Harry and Niall’s apartment. He’s on a couch, not Harry’s bed, which means he must have done something to anger Harry. He’ll probably need to apologize for that later.

He finds some paper and a pencil on top of a veritable mountain of shoe boxes -- a seriously alarming amount of shoe boxes -- by the door. He makes a mental note to ask Harry about them later as he scribbles an actual note to the two of them to let them know where he’s gone. He can’t seem to bring himself to ask Harry for a ride home at the crack of dawn two mornings in a row.

He takes a few minutes to get his bearings once he exits their ground floor apartment. He’s one street behind the bar, luckily, and maneuvers himself down the familiar path of the main drag, past the nice neighborhoods. He pauses briefly at the sight of his high school football field. The sun is not even close to being visible over the bleachers at this early hour, but if Louis strains his eyes, he can see the ghost of his Liam running harder than ever seemed necessary around the track.

He shakes the memory away, trying to leave it behind on the road as he walks home. Liam was always running and Louis was never really sure why, not then at least. And when Louis needed him to run most, Liam was immovable, rooted to his spot until he started running in the opposite direction. Away from Louis. That’s the only thing Liam runs from now: Louis.

When he finally reaches his house, no one is awake. Greeting him in the bathroom upstairs is a razor and a can of his dad’s favorite shaving cream. Judging by the light layer of dust coating it, it probably _was_ one of his dad’s. Louis takes the hint.

The sight of a freshly showered, freshly shaved Louis startles him. But for the sharper edges of his face, he looks eerily close to a teenage version of himself. And he remembers all over again why it’s been years since he’s done this.

He wonders why he did it so willingly.

Towel around his waist, clothing bunched up carelessly in his arms, he walks into his room -- Lottie’s room -- to find a box by the bed with his name scratched on the side in marker. The Ghost of Christmas Past strikes again.

It’s full of all the clothing he left behind and seated right on top is his favorite grey sweater, the sweater he knows he didn’t take with him because Liam had it the last time he saw it. The sweater that Liam returned to his mom.

The sweater begins to shake and it takes a solid twenty seconds for Louis to connect that the sweater is shaking because his hands are.

He has this clear image in his head whereas all the others have generally faded with time. Liam kneeling over Louis as he snuggled into bed, wearing this sweater and a look that only over time Louis was able to label as regret. Because Liam knew what he was going to do the night before and he was too much of a fucking coward to say it to Louis’ face.

He shoves the sweater back into the box and pushes it away from him. He throws on the same shirt he’s worn every four days for the last three years.

The whistle of the tea kettle downstairs means his mom is awake. Louis finds her, pajama-dressed, in the kitchen and when she turns to greet him, her face falls into something less than happy, but not quite sad.

“There’s my boy,” she says, like she’s recognizing him for the first time.

She wants the old Louis back, and he kind of wants him back too. He was happier and kinder, footloose and fancy free.

“I don’t suppose I can talk you into a haircut as well? Take you out to the garage like when you were little?”

“Let you put a bowl on my head so you could cut around in a straight line? I’ll pass.”

She tuts at him. “It was a good look!”

“It was a terrible look.”

“It was a terrible look,” she concedes. “Will you watch the girls while I pick up Lottie?”

“I’ll get her,” he says. “Already dressed.”

She smiles like this was what she was after the whole time, Louis knows when he’s being played. “She arrives at the bus terminal in Forrester at eight. Do you know where that is?”

“Yeah.” He knows exactly where that is, he left town from that very station seven years ago. It’s possible she doesn’t know this, but he doubts it.

“Thanks, darling,” she says. “You’re sure about the haircut?”

“Positive.”

She takes her mug back to her room as Louis runs his hands through his damp hair, pushing it back out of his face and parting on one side while it’s still pliable. Past Louis had a lot of things going for him, but his early Beatles haircut was not one of them.

It’s freezing cold outside and he can’t stop thinking about that damn sweater. Running from the sweater means admitting Liam still gets to him. And he doesn’t. Liam made his choice to leave Louis seven years ago and Louis made his choice to forget him. It’s _Louis_ ’ sweater and Louis can do exactly whatever the fuck pleases him.

The sweater still fits, a little looser than it used to as Louis’ spent years thinning out. It smells more like must than it does Liam or Louis, like in its loneliness, years spent stuffed in a box, the sweater has rid itself of all traces of the past.

The sweater is warm, thankfully so, because the heat in his mom’s station wagon doesn’t kick in by the time Louis arrives at the bus terminal. Louis half-heartedly sings along to the crackling radio as he scans the sidewalk of people waiting for taxis or other buses or family members or friends. Just as he’s starting to worry she hasn’t made it or something has gone wrong, he thinks he sees her, looking too much like an adult that just walked out of a magazine with her feathered hair, dark jeans, and tan suede jacket, and not like his little sister.

Half of her person is weighed down by the sizable suitcase she lugs down the sidewalk. Louis quickly puts the car in park and jumps out, hopping around quickly so he can be leaned against the car casually by the time she approaches.

“Need a ride, princess?” he calls and she turns to him, her face pinched in disgust and her mouth opened for what is likely to be an insult. Until she sees it’s him and her face falls, eyes widening with surprise. She drops her suitcase without regard and launches at him, clutching him in a fierce hug.

“Louis, oh my god, Louis,” she says. “You’re here, you’re here, you’re here.”

“I’m here,” he confirms and she finally pulls away.

“For how long?”

He blinks. “Um. Until everyone’s tired of looking at me, I guess.” Until he starts to feel unsettled. Until he can’t stand to be in one place. Until he’s not welcome.

She laughs. “I mean how long have you been back.”

“Oh. Couple of days.”

She slugs him in the shoulder. “And you didn’t tell me, you asshole.”

“Didn’t think it was that important,” he says, moving around her to pick up her suitcase and toss it in the back seat.

“Bullshit,” she says and hops in the passenger seat. “I bet you were expecting a homecoming parade, ticker tape and all.”

“No parades. I did get a party, though.” He throws the car in gear and pulls away. “Ma invited the whole town.”

“I missed the party,” she whines. “How was it?”

“It was all right. I did get arrested, though, that kind of dampened the atmosphere.”

“Arrested?” she squawks, wide-eyed. “Are you in trouble with the army? I went to a lecture on draft dodger’s rights three weeks ago, you know they say Carter’s in favor of a pardon--”

“I’m not in trouble,” Louis interrupts, almost laughing at her intensity. “I don’t think he’s going to turn me in.”

“Who?”

“Don’t worry about it. How are you? Who are you? God, I can’t believe you just said the words _lecture on draft dodger’s rights_ to me,” Louis says, ever the master of deflection.

Lottie just laughs at him and shakes her head. “I went to college.”

“Proud of you,” Louis says. “You know that, right? I’ve always been proud of you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lottie says, patting the hand he has on the gear shift.

“Good.” He nods to himself and taps his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music. “Hey, have you spoken with Eleanor recently?”

Eleanor hadn’t made a single mention of Lottie last night, which was strange given how attached she was to Lottie the last time he’d seen her.

“No,” she says shortly and says nothing for the rest of the car ride. Louis flounders with the sudden silence. He wonders if Lottie is going to keep this up when they get home. Ignoring Louis seems to be catching with the Tomlinson sisters and he’s not prepared to lose the twins either.

Fizz cracks a smile for the first time since Louis’ been home when she greets Lottie at the door. She resumes her customary scowl quickly when she moves aside to let Louis in. Louis carries Lottie’s suitcase up to her room, does what he can to tidy his stuff into a corner. He’ll probably take the couch tonight.

After lunch, they settle in on the floor of the living room to play The Game of Life, a terrifying board game Louis has never played that’s apparently all about adhering to a very strict path in order to lead a successful life. Even Fizz plays when Lottie asks her to, and she insists on taking control of the bank and the pieces they’ll need during game play.

Louis watches as each of his sisters finish school and get jobs and stop to get married, like they’re living their lives in some sort of flash-forward dictated only by a colorful spinning wheel. Lottie shouts about the injustices of forced marriage when she’d rather live out her days as a strong independent female. Louis finds this hilarious, but Fizz groans, insisting Lottie just play the stupid game and shut up.

Louis stops at the chapel to get married and his stomach plummets when Fizz drops a small pink peg in his hand -- a wife to join his little blue peg. He looks up at her, his eyebrows furrowed -- he knows she was young, but he knows she knew what Liam was.

Fizz stares back at him, cold but not angry. She does know and she’s fucking with Louis. He’s not sure whether he wants to put the pink peg in the car or request a blue one, and he doesn’t have to decide because the phone rings and Phoebe jumps to her feet.

“It’s daddy, it’s daddy!” she shouts and shoots into the kitchen to snatch the receiver from the wall. She immediately starts to babble into the phone about her week.

Louis looks at the rest of them and suggests, “Take a break?”

Daisy and Fizz rise to join Phoebe in the kitchen, queueing to have a chance at the phone.

“Sorry,” Lottie says.                    

“For what?”

“Felicite has been mad at you for a while.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Louis says, rubbing the back of his neck and stretching back to lean against the couch. “I thought you knew, really, I thought you all would understand.”

“She knows why you left, I think she gets it, she’s just.” Lottie sighs. “I guess it’s not really my place to tell, is it?”

“Right,” Louis says. He wouldn’t ask Lottie to betray Fizz’s confidence. Not that he wouldn’t listen if Lottie did decide to say something.

He scans the board for what lies ahead of him after marriage, things he can’t really hope to have. There are children and lots of money won and lost and places to go, ending in Countryside Acres, which looks like a nice, sad home for old people to go when their kids are done with them, or Millionaire Estates, which looks too big and too cold. There’s nothing that says STOP -- MANDATORY CONSCRIPTION or Move to Canada: Pay $5,000, Lose Your Friends and Family.

Lottie gets up for her turn on the phone when Fizz calls for her and Louis steals some money from the bank and puts it in his pile because he’s losing right now because he has the worst job and he can’t lose to a bunch of kids in this game that appears to require no skills at all.

“Lou!” Lottie calls. “Dad wants to talk to you.”

Louis shakes his head. Lottie nods encouragingly. Louis shakes his head again. Lottie nods vigorously, scrunching her face in irritation at him. So Louis gets up and slowly ambles over to the phone like moving with purpose would mean his dad won.

“Peasant,” she says haughtily, dropping the handset in his hand and stalking off.

“Hello,” Louis says shortly.

His dad exhales on the other end, maybe a sigh, maybe a laugh. “Louis? God, it's so good to hear your voice.”

Louis raises his eyebrows even though he can't see it. “You could have heard it a lot earlier if you were still here,” he snaps.

“I'm sorry. Nobody thought you were coming back,” his dad mumbles, like that's an excuse.

“I never thought you'd leave. So I guess we're both defying expectations.”

“Louis,” his dad says, not a warning but a lament. Louis doesn’t even know why he bothered getting up to take this call, he doesn’t have any interest in listening to his dad make excuses about his absence.

“It's my turn, the girls and I are playing The Game of Life. They need me, I've got to go.”

“Okay,” his dad says, sensing the lie but not saying anything. For a moment, Louis considers he's gone too hard on him. But he doesn't change his mind. What kind of father abandons his family before they're done growing up? Before they're done needing him? He's lazy, he's taking the easy way out, parenting over the phone for an hour every week.

“Bye,” Louis says and hangs up unceremoniously.

Louis rests his head against the wall next to the phone, letting the cool wallpaper calm his burning forehead. His mom is clearly doing everything she can to create a positive environment for the girls, and he's not going to ruin it just because he is pissed as hell.

He straightens and turns to return to the living room, finding Fizz watching him from the refrigerator. She leans against it, steely-eyed, arms crossed.

“How much of that did you hear?” he asks.

“More than you wanted me to.”

“Fizz,” he starts but she holds up a hand to cut him off.

“You're angry. I understand. Nobody likes feeling abandoned by their family,” she says, her voice as sharp as her narrowed eyes.

Louis gets it finally. “I didn’t abandon you. That’s not what happened.”

He left because the alternative was unspeakable. He left because he knew he would live for sure. He left because he always thought he would be able to find his way back.

“Sure,” she says and walks back into the living room.

Louis returns to a suspiciously smaller stack of money than he remembers having, but he says nothing. He loses spectacularly and ends up in Countryside Estates, but only because there’s not an option for being so poor he’d have to spend retirement on the streets.

The doorbell rings shortly after the game is over and Fizz is crowned as the winner of Life. It's a couple hours before Dan said he would arrive, but maybe he got off work early.

"Clear up your terrible mess, you monsters," Louis says, gesturing to the absolute nightmare of money and cards and little person pegs Louis threw about in his fake fit about having come in last place. "This is shameful."

He rolls up off the living room floor with an exaggerated moan for his creaky old bones and gets the door.

Liam is on the other side, his face pressed into a concerned frown until his eyes rake down and take in Louis' clean shaven face and old grey sweater. Then he just looks sad, but Louis decides Liam doesn't get to look sad. Louis crosses his arms and blocks his way.

"Apology not accepted," Louis says.

"I didn't come here to apologize," Liam says with disbelief. He even throws a head shake into the mix.

"Then why are you here?"

"Sunday dinner," Liam says like it's obvious. It's not obvious and Liam isn't invited. It's Louis' house and Louis' family and Louis invited him in the first place so he can sure as hell rescind the invitation.

"You're not invited."

Liam raises his eyebrows like _wanna bet_? He shoulders past Louis, nearly body checking him, though it's gentler than Louis is tensed up to face. Liam rounds the corner and says, "What's doing, little ones?"

Louis stomps after him, a little delayed. The twins are shouting and pulling at him, attempting to climb onto his back from the couch.

"Double piggy back ride, no, I'm too weak, you're too strong," Liam moans, but easily supports their weight, expertly looping an arm around each of them to keep them steady. So he's done this before.

Louis wonders how many Sunday dinners he's missed that Liam's been to. Does Liam sit at his seat and check in? They don't need Liam anymore, they have Louis.

Or do they not need Louis anymore because they have Liam?

"Excuse you," Fizz says irritably with her arms crossed as she glares at Liam. For a brief moment, Louis feels pride or at least relief because it seems like she's mad at everyone and not just Louis.

"You want a go?" Liam asks.

"Obviously," she snaps, but a smile creeps slowly up her face. Louis doesn't groan in disappointment but it's a near thing.

Liam nods and says, "How about you give the three of us one instead?"

He chases after her and she shrieks and the girls shriek and Louis forgets what year it is. He presses at his heart, which is beating faster than is really necessary at the sight of his girls clinging all over Liam, who looks happier than Louis has been able to picture him in the last seven years. Liam looks like he’s found a family, and that was once all Louis wanted for him.

"Is that Liam?" Louis' mum asks, rounding the corner from the kitchen. She lights up when she sees him too, which just about kills Louis. “Hello, love.”

“I brought the tree,” Liam huffs out, stopping his chase to glance at Jay. “It’s in the truck.”

Louis looks between the two of them -- what tree? But as he glances around his living room, he realizes for the first time, there’s no Christmas tree set up. That used to be something Louis did with his dad. And when they didn’t have his dad and when they didn’t have him, they turned to Liam, they always seem to turn to Liam.

“You didn’t have to do to that,” she says softly.

Liam just shrugs as best he can with the twins on his back weighing him down. “I’ll go get it.”

“Louis can help,” she says, and Louis can’t find a legitimate reason to refuse to stand near him or help him help his family when nobody’s asked him to.

Louis follows Liam out to the shitty pickup truck he always remembers Liam having and sure enough there’s a massive Christmas tree strapped in the bed waiting for them. In the passenger seat of his truck, Louis sees a brown bag of groceries, probably more of the food he’s told Liam hides around the house. Anger burns in Louis, hot and righteous fury coursing through his veins.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Louis snaps.

Liam stills his arms where he’s pulling down the tailgate. He looks up to Louis with something like confusion, which only causes Louis to get angrier, because Liam isn’t allowed to fucking play dumb.

So Louis reaches his arms through Liam’s to slam the tailgate back shut. “Who gave you the _right_ \-- this is my fucking family and we don’t need your pity.” He slices through Liam’s confusion with his sharpest glare.

“It’s not pity,” Liam says and yanks the tailgate back down. He reaches to his left, crossing in front of Louis to untie part of the rope, and Louis jerks away from him.

“The girls tell me you leave food around the house, that you do things without telling my mom,” Louis accuses. The very fact that Liam does it without being asked and then lies about it proves it’s pity. They’re not pathetic, they’re not needy, and if they are, then Liam can stop because these are Louis’ girls and he’ll take care of them.

“Yes.” Liam reaches over and unties the other end of the rope.

“Why then, if not pity?” Louis asks as Liam slowly starts to pull the tree forward towards the ground.

“Because I love them,” Liam says plainly, obviously, like what he’s saying isn’t shattering Louis’ heart. He knows Liam loves his family, because he loved them before, and to see that still the case even after Louis isn’t around… Louis doesn’t like how warm it makes him feel. And how effectively it shuts him down, makes him lose all his fight.

Liam hauls the Christmas tree over his shoulder because he doesn’t actually need Louis’ help at all, he’s still plenty strong. The action triggers memories of Liam throwing Louis over his shoulder when Louis was being a pain in the ass. Liam would just hold him until Louis calmed down, and Louis would struggle, but very cautiously because he had a reputation for mischief to uphold but he also loved that Liam was stronger than him.

Louis trails uselessly behind Liam, watching him closely as he sets up the tree in the same corner it always goes in, right in front of the window, sandwiched between the television and the fireplace. Lottie has already unearthed the ornaments and Fizz has the ancient plaid green and red blanket they always wrap the base of the tree in.  

This is family making his home warm and welcoming for Christmas, and this is the reason Louis has come home. He misses them so much, he misses this so much. They’re not complicated and as much as Louis is afraid he doesn’t fit here anymore, he really wants to be here.

They decorate the tree while his mom cooks and refuses to let Louis help. He practically begs her just so he doesn’t have to stand near Liam while he picks up one of the twins so they can put ornaments on the top of the tree. So he doesn’t have to watch Fizz smile but only at Liam. So he doesn’t have to be reminded of all the Christmases he’s missed because he doesn’t recognize at least half of the ornaments going on the tree.

Dan shows up just in time to help set the leaf up in the kitchen table, so they can all crowd around it, stuffed in so close it’s almost uncomfortable. Louis finds himself sitting on a fold-out chair, flanked by Lottie and Phoebe, across from where Liam is flanked by Fizz and Daisy. He tries not to think too much about Dan sitting at the head of the table where his dad used to sit.

“Check in,” his mom announces, and she says, “Today I feel grateful to have my family gathered at this table. I am so happy that my entire beautiful family is home for Christmas.” She cuts herself off as tears fill her eyes. “I just love you all so much.”

“Ma,” Louis says, reaching across the table for her hand. She laughs wetly and waves him off, and he’s familiar with the move. She doesn’t want a fuss made over her, she’d rather cry it out without bothering anyone.

“I’m really excited for presents this week, the end,” Fizz says.

“Felicite,” Jay censures, but she’s laughing a little, so Fizz doesn’t seem interested in changing her answer.

Liam addresses his plate. “I say this every time, and then I say _I say this_ _every time_ every time,” he starts, chuckling a little. “But it’s worth mentioning every time how grateful I am for you all, too, because you’re really important to me. You know I’m terrible at this, so I’ll just leave it there.” He shrugs a little, a self-deprecating move Louis recognizes too well and even after all this time, Liam can’t just say something he means without trying to undercut himself and make what he said seem less important. In the past, Louis would reach for him and thank him and tell him he’s wanted and loved here. But that’s the past.

“Santa Claus is coming this week and I wrote him a letter at school on Friday and I hope it’s not too late and he gets it even though Christmas is this week,” Daisy says.

“I’m going to try not to just say what Liam said,” Dan says with a nod at Liam, “but I am very grateful for this little adopted family I have here, how welcome I have felt this year. And I’m glad to meet the whole set.” He throws a smile at Louis. Louis nods back.

They’ve had Liam and now they have Dan too. His family has always been so generous with their love, that’s something his mom has instilled in him from the time he was a child -- how Louis’ chosen family was just as important as his relatives. Louis has loved fiercely in his life and has worked hard to surround himself with people he loves and he has never been afraid of it.

Coming home has been hard, surrounding himself once more with the people he loves is hard after having spent too many years without them. Sitting here with them now is hard, even with a few days’ worth of adjustments. Sunday dinner is just so much like his family and they’re all kind and loving and Louis doesn’t know what to do with himself, whether he wants to run away from the pressure of it or hold onto each and every one of them and never let go.

“I miss school,” Phoebe says. “Also we built a snowman yesterday and that was very neat. Louis let us use his scarf, which was very nice, although I think we forgot the scarf at the park. I’m sorry, Louis.”

“That’s all right, babe,” he says quietly, because she does actually look kind of distressed about the scarf.

Louis doesn’t know how to put what he’s feeling into words. He swallows hard around the lump in his throat and tugs at his napkin to kill time, but the words never really come. He’s not used to being too overwhelmed to speak -- Louis can always talk, he’s a man of infinite bullshit. He just can’t bring himself to bullshit.

“I never thought I’d be at a Sunday dinner again. I thought I’d never see you again. So to be back here.” He trails off, leaving them to fill in the gaps, because he can’t get his voice to work out how much he’s missed home, how much he needs home.

“I’m going to college and I love it and most days I can’t believe it,” Lottie says, picking up her cue. “I love school but I’m happy to home. And I’m happy Louis’ home.” She puts her hand on his arm and squeezes tightly for a brief moment. He passes her a grateful smile.

His mom is crying again, or maybe she never stopped, and she just waves at them to begin eating.

Over dinner, Louis pretends like he’s not watching Liam lean over to cut Daisy’s turkey for her. He pretends he doesn’t watch Liam laugh at Dan’s stories about crazy mothers at the hospital. He pretends he doesn’t notice Liam talk to everyone but Louis. It shouldn’t drive Louis crazy, but he’s terrible at being ignored, especially terrible at being ignored by Liam, even after all these years.

Maybe he can’t let Liam be happy. He doesn’t want Liam to be happy when Liam lied straight to Louis’ face and broke Louis’ heart. Maybe if his mom knew, she wouldn’t look at Liam so fondly like he is the second son she always wanted. Maybe if Fizz knew the truth, she wouldn’t only smile at him.

He wonders what Liam’s told everyone in Louis’ absence. Louis didn’t stop to explain himself to anyone because he knew what they’d all try to tell him to do. It was easier to just make the clean break, to not linger on goodbyes and get stuck endlessly justifying why dodging the draft was Louis’ only option. He doesn’t know how much Liam told Harry or Niall or Zayn about their plan, he doesn’t even know if his mom found his note. He doesn’t trust Liam not to have lied to make Louis look bad, because he couldn’t even trust Liam to tell him the truth about his plan to abandon Louis, to choose war over Louis.

He decides to ask Liam about it when dinner is over and the girls, his mom, and Dan are stringing popcorn on some fishing line Dan found in the garage to decorate the Christmas tree with. Liam had volunteered to do the dishes, but instead he’s just staring out the window over the sink while the water runs wastefully. Louis can’t see his face, but he sees his shoulders are tensed up, stiffening his arms all the way to where his hands are clenched to the sink.

Louis almost stalks up to him then, but he’s stopped by a hand on his arm. He turns with surprise to see it’s Fizz, and she guides him back into the living room.

“You can’t sneak up on Liam when he’s like that,” she says quietly. Her eyes are lit up at him in the first sincere expression he’s seen from her thus far. “You have to say something first, let him know you’re there.”

“Why?” Louis asks, even though in the next moment the answer occurs to him. “Okay,” he says, and she leaves him to it.

Is he dangerous? Is Fizz scared of him? Should she be? Liam already looks so different in ways Louis couldn’t have possibly pictured. As prepared as he is to hate Liam, he’s not so sure he can hate a stranger.

Louis just doesn’t want Liam around his family if they can’t trust that he won’t lash out at them. Louis doesn’t know what he would do if war has turned Liam into a machine that fights first and doesn’t bother to question its actions because it can’t question its actions. It would break his heart, likely, if it wasn’t already broken.

“Liam,” he says without much confidence, the familiar weight of the name rolling over his tongue in a way that makes him want to shake.

Liam tenses anyway, even with the notice, and he looks unable to relax even as he slaps the faucet off and he turns around to Louis. He doesn’t look angry or scared or upset, he just looks blank. Liam looks at him but gives him nothing and Louis is so unnerved he almost recoils.

When Liam doesn’t say anything, Louis prompts, “Can we talk?” Liam’s features finally shift into something approaching wariness and Louis sighs with impatience. “Christ, Liam, just fucking say yes.”

Liam steels his jaw like he’s going to say no just out of spite, which is honestly more Louis’ style than it is Liam’s, but then he finally nods, an action so small Louis isn’t even sure it actually happened. Louis figures it happened anyway, so he turns on his heel, stomps through the living room and straight up the stairs, pushing the door open to Lottie’s room and leaving it open for Liam behind him. He settles onto the bed, finally in a position to check that Liam’s behind him without actually checking, just in case the sound of extra footfalls on the stairs wasn’t real.

Liam is there, hovering near the wall by the door, his arms crossed in front of him defensively, or perhaps to illustrate he’s off-limits to Louis now in this room where they’ve given everything to each other in the past.

“What did you tell them?” Louis says.

Liam raises his eyebrows with confusion. “What?”

“After I left, what did you tell everyone?”

“Nothing.”

"So when they asked you about it, you said nothing?"

"Wasn't exactly eager to discuss it at the time." Liam’s eyes dart around the room, anything to keep from looking at Louis. His eyes keep coming back to the framed copy of _Showcase #4_.

"You had to have said something."

"That's none of your business," Liam says with a heat he doesn’t usually possess. He turns his eyes on Louis then, if only to let Louis see how much he means it. "You don't want anything to do with me."

"It's not just about you,” Louis argues. “I have to know why Fizz won't talk to me or why Harry and Niall keep looking at each other. I have to know what my mother thinks of me. So what did you do?"

"I told them the truth, I told them that you left and I didn't, and that's it."

"You didn't tell them that you lied to me? I'm not surprised."

Liam shakes his head slowly, disbelief and irritation taking over his face.

"I didn't tell them that you lied to me about how you loved me and I didn't tell them that you left without saying goodbye because you're a coward,” Liam says pointedly. “I didn't tell them anything. If anyone is reading between the lines, I won't stop them. But don't worry, Louis, you're still everyone's favorite." He throws that last line out with disdain Louis has never seen him use.

Louis doesn't trust him because Liam has every reason to lie and embarrass him. But Louis stares at the floor, still trying to work around what he said, bullshit on every account. He's never loved someone the way he loved Liam and, yes, he pushed him away at the end, but Liam didn't want him, Liam abandoned him. That's what Louis had to do to save himself, to keep Liam from breaking him.

"I didn't tell them anything," Liam says quietly, breaking Louis' concentration trying to puzzle out what Liam was talking about, "because even though I hated you, I couldn't let other people hate you too.”

Louis looks up at him, but Liam has left the room, the door still open, and Louis can hear how he's carefully trying not to make a lot of noise as he quickly descends the stairs.

“Fuck, fuck,” Louis says to himself now because he can’t say it downstairs where his family is.

As soon as Louis slips into the living room, Liam is doling out short hugs for each of his family members and lying about having to go help his own mom with something before she goes to bed. Fizz frowns at Liam and then frowns at Louis once she sees him, so that’s pretty much business as usual. Louis doesn’t acknowledge Liam as he passes by, Louis busies himself with eating some of the popcorn meant for decoration.

The room seems darker without Liam after he leaves, like the lights dim but also his family dims. The girls go back to stringing popcorn and Louis’ mom makes for the kitchen. Louis follows, anticipating a mug of tea out of it.

She sets the tea kettle out for Louis and pops the water back on in the sink to finish the dishes Louis pulled Liam away from. She can probably tell something is on Louis’ mind, itching to burst forward, especially after the awkward display Louis put on in the living room, so she waits patiently.

“He leaves food here and he doesn’t tell you about it,” Louis says and he steals the faucet to fill the tea kettle with water. He feels like a snitch, ratting Liam out, which he hates, but he feels more like tearing down Liam, so he lets it go.

“I know,” his mom says lightly. She chuckles at Louis’ look of bewilderment. “Our Liam has never exactly been very good at subtlety.”

She reaches over and lights the stove for him because even after all this time, she still doesn’t trust him with fire.

“That doesn’t bother you?” he asks.

“We take care of him, he takes care of us,” she says simply. “This is what he needs to do.”

He can’t hate Liam for that, he can’t fault Liam for that. Because Louis feels that, when he looks at his friends and family, he has to take care of them, defend them at all costs. He feels it now, greater than maybe he’s ever felt it before, because he’s gone so long without having someone to take care of.

He doesn’t have to be anyone’s favorite, or whatever juvenile way Liam put it, but he has to know he’s wanted and needed. That’s what he was missing from his life away from home. Purpose. He has them all back now, though, his family and his boys, if they’ll have him.

\--


	8. December 24, 1968

_ _

_(You Can't Hurry Love - The Supremes, Sunshine on My Shoulders - John Denver)_

* * *

_December 24, 1968_

 

Liam runs even though he’s pretty close to dead on his feet at this point. Liam has gotten exactly no sleep at all. Because Louis didn’t want to get any sleep. Because when Louis leans into his ear and says _don’t go_ and _it’s our anniversary_ and _I don’t care what your parents told you to do_ , Liam stays up at Louis’ house all night. He sneaks into his own house before dawn and pretends to be asleep when his mom wakes him for breakfast because his anxiety over getting caught doesn’t allow him those two hours of rest.

When Louis curls into his arms on the couch as they half-watch old movies, when Louis runs his hands over Liam’s stomach, when they move together as quietly as they can on Louis’ bed, Liam does whatever Louis tells him to do.

He prefers to run on the track instead of aimlessly around town, but the football field is padlocked shut for winter break, and while that wouldn’t deter Louis at all, Liam is plenty deterred. Running around a track is mindless, it’s always the same dependable loops, so it gets easier for Liam to lose himself.

He turns around to run home, even though he hasn’t really felt the burn yet. He needs to shower before settling into the family Christmas Eve dinner. The Christmas Eve dinner that Louis is specifically not invited to. Liam’s mom had very quickly gone from being grateful and excited that Liam finally had some close friends to being resentful of how much time he was spending with his close friends (Louis, mainly).

Liam spends his weekends and Sunday Dinners practically glued to Louis’ hip as well as much of his time at school as he can manage. During the summer, Liam spent more nights at Louis’ home than he did his own. This led to a sit-down conversation with his parents about his behavior, how they felt Liam wasn’t being “part of the family” and using his home more for storage than for living. He was spending too much time as part of Louis’ family.

 _That doesn’t bother me_ , Liam did not say.

He likes being part of Louis’ family. He likes Jay’s warm smiles and giving piggy back rides to Fizz and learning the rules of chivalry with Lottie and laughing at Louis changing the twins’ diapers. He likes that they know about him and Louis and he likes that he feels safe there in a way he doesn’t feel safe anywhere else in town.

His parents don’t know and that’s what he has to run from when he can. He has stress from his parents about how much time he spends with Louis and stress from Louis about how he’s never spent any time with Liam’s parents. Liam runs from that conversation with Louis when he can.

A string of houses decked with Christmas lights guides him home. There’s a strange car in his driveway, so it appears Nicola has finally made it, with her husband David and her two month old daughter Meredith. He’s happy to see them at least.

He jogs up half the stairs before his mom calls him into the living room.

“I’m all sweaty, I figured it was better for everyone if I showered first,” Liam calls on his way back down the stairs. “Save you all the assault on your noses.”

Five pairs of eyes turn to him when he walks into his living room, more eyes than Liam expects. Louis sits on his couch, his tie tossed over his shoulder, Liam’s niece in his arms, and a soft smile on his face. His mother smiles too, but her eyes are the quiet furious she gets when she’s in public and can’t say anything. His dad isn’t hiding anything -- his face is just worked into a scowl. David and Nicola are thankfully clueless. Liam doesn’t panic but he almost does.

“Hey, Louis, happy birthday,” Liam says, his shaking voice betraying the cool exterior he’s trying to exude.

“Merry Christmas,” Louis answers, quietly because of the sleeping baby. “I have been very kindly invited to dinner.”

The way his parents sit stiffly indicate the invitation was not given in earnest.

“That’s great,” Liam says. He shifts uncomfortably and thinks about the conversation they need to have that Liam desperately doesn’t want to have. Louis doesn’t know that his parents don’t know. Liam’s relationship with his parents hangs very delicately by only a few strings these days and he can’t afford for Louis to snip what’s left and ruin his relationship.

“Nic, David. Meredith looks great,” he continues. Meredith is getting bigger, certainly far bigger than she was the last time Liam saw her when his family drove all the way down to Nebraska after she was born. Her usually scrunched up face looks at peace in Louis’ arms. Liam knows for a fact Louis’ some kind of prodigy at relaxing babies, given how quick Daisy and Phoebe calm at his very appearance.

“She is great,” David says with a smile.

“Louis? My room?” Liam asks dumbly.

Louis raises his eyebrows at him, but says nothing, transferring Meredith back to her mom. He reaches for Liam’s hand, which Liam casually maneuvers around, in favor of resting his own on Louis’ back and guiding him towards the stairs.

“What are you doing here?” Liam asks as soon as he closes his bedroom door behind them. “We talked about this, it’s a family dinner.”

“Happy anniversary,” Louis says, pushing Liam against his door to kiss him. Liam relaxes into the kiss easily -- he’s always sort of desperate for this kind of connection that separates him from the rest of the world. Louis has friends and Louis has family, but Liam is the only one who gets this. “You smell,” Louis notes, his lips brushing against Liam’s.

“I was on a run,” Liam pouts, pulling away to save Louis from the smell. “I need to shower.”

“I’ll join you,” Louis says and Liam tries to ignore what that suggestion does to him.

“You need to behave, _please_ ,” Liam says.

Louis narrows his eyes. “You know how much I hate being told to behave.”

“But I just -- my parents. They’re not like your parents, we have to... I don’t know. Relax around them. Please,” Liam practically begs. “I don’t want to be too much.”

“I am universally adored by all parents,” Louis scoffs. “I’m not worried.”

 _I am_ , Liam does not say.

Louis runs a hand through Liam’s sweat damp hair. Liam knows he mourns the loss of Liam’s wavy mop, but the cleaner cut keeps his hair out of his eyes when he runs and when he boxes. The two of them don’t look like half of the Beatles anymore.

“Don’t worry, babe, I got you,” Louis says with a kiss and a smack to Liam’s bottom. “Go shower.”

“My parents,” Liam says and Louis rolls his eyes with a long suffering sigh.

“I’ll be on my best behavior. Scout’s honor.”

“You can’t swear by Scout’s honor if you’re not a Scout. That’s in the rules.” Liam honestly doesn’t care enough to really make a stink of it -- Liam is an actual Scout, he does get to say these things -- but he knows this is what Louis expects of him. Louis wants the haughty correction he expects of Liam so Louis can laugh at him about it. Liam likes giving him reasons to laugh.

Louis makes a face of ridiculous face of surprise. “Oh? In the rules? Well, then.”

He knows Louis is only doing what he thinks is best for Liam because he’s trying to help Liam. Liam has a lot of problems and it hurts sometimes when Louis points them out, but Liam should fix them.

Two weeks ago when Liam was at Louis' house for a little while before Liam had to run to beat his mom home, they were sitting on the living room couch together, their legs tangled under a blanket, while Liam studied for his math test and Louis read through Liam's new stack of The Flash.

Liam sang along absently to the radio until Louis said, “Liam, babe, you're killing me. You're singing every word to every song.”

“Oh,” Liam said, his face flushing with embarrassment. He hadn't really been conscious he was doing it.

“I just can't concentrate. I've read the same speech bubble three times.”

“I'm sorry,” Liam mumbled. He knows better than to make too much noise singing, he gets that at home all the time. He ducked his head so Louis couldn't see how red he was sure his face was because he didn't want Louis to feel bad for saying anything if Liam did something wrong.

“Hey,” Louis said, snaking his foot under Liam's shirt and poking his freezing toes into Liam's stomach. Louis was either going to apologize for saying anything in the first place or he was going to tell Liam to stop being so sensitive. They played this game often enough that Liam was very aware of the path ahead and Liam didn't want them to go in either direction.

Liam cracked a smile because that's what Louis wants if he's apologizing.

“It's not a criticism, babe, don't be so upset,” Louis said.

“I'm not upset,” Liam said to his math book. Liam was too embarrassed to talk about it.

“You are upset,” Louis argued, his face pinching in the way it does when he's irritated with Liam specifically. “I don't know why you're so upset, it's not a big deal.”

“It's fine, really,” Liam said and smiled up at him. He just wanted to forget it ever happened.

Louis frowned at him but dropped it, and Liam learned better. That's how they do it.

Liam has been hiding Louis from his parents and it’s a problem. Louis is going to fix it.

Liam showers as quickly as possible, returning to his room to see Louis isn’t in there. So he’s downstairs, most likely not behaving. He dresses in the crisp blue shirt hanging on his closet door and notices Louis has not so subtly hung the grey sweater Liam stole from him two months ago next to the shirt. Liam puts that on too.

When Liam returns to the living room, he finds Louis on the couch, carrying on a casual conversation with Nic as she nurses Meredith. There’s a blanket draped over Meredith and all but Liam still walks into a wall trying not to look at his sister breast feeding.

“Walk much?” Louis asks because of course he saw that, to which Liam gives a helpless shrug.

“I was just saying I recognize this one,” Nicola says. Louis tries to look as innocent as possible, which is not at all innocent because his face isn’t capable of looking like that. “But he won’t tell me from where.”

Liam is reasonably certain it’s because of the parties she threw when their parents were out of town, and for once in his entire life, Louis is utilizing tact. He’s not going to rat on her, though Liam suspects she’s not likely to get in trouble at this point. Look at that. Louis is behaving. Even if his parents are in the kitchen with David and can’t technically hear them.

They sit down to dinner shortly afterwards, Louis specifically choosing the seat next to Liam so he can press a knee to Liam’s. Liam’s dad asks that they bow their heads in silent reflection, which isn’t something his family normally does outside of big holiday family dinners. Liam likes to think they’re all checking in in their own way, but he wishes they shared their reflections with each other. Liam reflects: he’s happy to see his niece and that Nicola is doing well and he prays for Ruth’s continued safety and even though he’s scared, he loves that Louis is here as a part of his family for the first time.

Louis finds a way to squeeze Liam’s hand briefly before dropping it. Louis is checking in too.

Silence reigns as plates fill, just a quiet clinking and the murmuring of food requests. Liam pretends like he doesn’t see Louis checking on him occasionally with little side glances.

“Nicola, did you see the letter Ruth sent us last week?” his mom asks.

“I haven’t,” she answers. His mom knows she hasn’t, she can’t have been at the house more than a few hours. This is just her way of easing into a complaint, Nicola recognizes it instantly, if the look she trades with Liam is any indication.

“It was a little short, if you ask me. Only writes home two times this year and we get seven sentences.”

“She’s probably pretty busy, mom,” Nic says reasonably.

“And she probably can’t say much about what she’s doing,” Liam adds. It’s the routine. Talk her down with as many gentle suggestions as possible, but never openly contradict her.

His mom just purses her lips. “Half the time we’re worried she’s not even _alive_.”

“Mom,” Nic says like a slight reprimand. She’s the only one of the three of them who can get away with that kind of thing, but sometimes she takes it too far. Liam’s spent plenty of time as a kid sitting in his room, using a pillow to smother the sounds of the two of them shouting at each other.

“She’s serving her country, Kathy,” his dad says, pointing his fork at her. Liam never sees his dad get more heated and defensive than when he’s discussing the war. “None of my letters made it home from Korea. We should be grateful for our two.”

“What’s Ruth doing?” Louis asks and he finds himself the sudden recipient of every pair of eyes in the room. Liam knows his mom’s expression well, the _mind your own business_ expression.

“She’s a nurse,” Liam answers. “In Vietnam.”

“Oh,” Louis says, his expression softening into a displeased frown. “You didn’t say anything.”

Liam shrugs sort of helplessly, but he doesn’t get to answer because his dad interrupts. “Why would he say anything? It’s our family’s business.”

 _Louis is family_ , Liam does not say.

Louis’ jaw steels and, to Liam’s growing surprise, he bites his tongue. Liam drops a hand under the table and blindly reaches out for Louis’. Louis seems to read his intentions and their fingers find each other quickly to lace together.

“It’s no place for a woman,” his mom says. Liam doesn’t see any reason for this argument to cloud over their family dinner, certainly not while they have company, but once his parents get into the subject, they trade barbs at each other until they both pass into a moody silence.

“Well, I thank god for Ruth because I don’t see either of the other two being useful,” his dad says. “Liam wouldn’t last a day.”

Liam fixes his eyes to his mashed potatoes. He knows he wouldn’t last a day, it’s not like he’s going to argue the fact. He boxes now because his dad told him he needed to toughen up, but he never actually plans to put his skills to use because the thought terrifies him. He doesn’t need to defend himself at school anymore anyway because he’s under Louis’ protection.

“I think Liam is stronger than you give him credit for,” Louis interjects, his eyes sharply pointed at Liam’s dad. His dad just stares back, equally icy.

His dad huffs. “He can prove it when he enlists next year after graduation.”

“Liam doesn’t want to fight in the war,” Louis says, which is the truth, but not exactly something Liam has been keen to talk to his dad about. He has just kind of been hoping the whole thing would be done with in the next few months so he didn’t have to worry about it.

“This family, _my family_ , has a rich military history and I’ll be damned if it ends with my own son.”

“I respect that, sir. But we don’t even know why we’re over there. What are we even fighting for?”  Louis says, heatedly echoing the words they’ve heard gathered around Louis’ television, watching reports of the marches, riots, and demonstrations Liam’s dad refers to as shameful. “We’re sending kids over there to be slaughtered, and we’re not even wanted there. If the warmongers in Washington get their heads out of their asses for a minute -- ”

“That’s enough,” his mom snaps and the table goes quiet.

Nicola clears her throat a little, gathering Liam’s attention. She flicks her eyes to where his hand is still joined with Louis, perhaps they’re a little less conspicuous than they thought they were. Liam removes his hand under the guise of needing two hands to cut at his turkey and then doesn’t replace it for Louis. Louis makes a dissatisfied noise, but Liam ignores it.

“David got a promotion two weeks ago,” Nicola says gently.

“Congratulations, David,” Liam says gratefully.

David smiles lightly, acknowledging with grace the fact that he’s a subject change. “Thank you. I now manage four grocery stores in the greater Omaha region. I suspect if they do well, I’ll have another two by Easter.”

“Speaking of grocery stores,” his mom says and it’s not directed exactly at Liam, but he has a sneaking suspicion it’s about to be. “I saw that Sophia Smith with her mom at the store just the other day when I went to get the turkey.”

“Is she doing well?” Liam asks dutifully.

“She’s a nice girl,” his mom says with a deliberate nod.

Louis cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrows, which Liam recognizes is a gesture that means he’s about to decide whether it’s worth his time to openly disagree with someone. He settles on muttering to himself, “Wow.”

“She is very nice. I’ll be sure to give her your regards the next time I see her at school,” Liam says diplomatically before his mom attempts to set up a date in the middle of Christmas Eve dinner with a girl Liam has no interest in and who has no clue Liam even exists.

Meredith begins to fuss, so Nicola rises to address her concerns, crossing the room to lift her from her little seat.

“You’re not holding her head firm enough, you have to give her more support,” Liam’s mom censures from across the room.

Where Liam would accept the correction and move on in the interest of making the conflict go away, Nicola purses her lips and says, “I’m doing it just as I was shown to do.”

“I’ve raised three children, Nicola.”

“I’m raising this one,” Nic answers, matching the dangerous tone of her mother’s. Liam tenses instinctively even though it’s been a while since he’s heard one of their shouting matches. He thought he might be overreacting to them this way, but nonetheless he feels the anxiety bubbling up, turning his stomach.

“But I’m here so you don’t have to make mistakes. If you have any interest in my advice, that is.”

“Well, if she grows up resenting me for her weak neck, I’ll gladly apologize and assume full responsibility.” She bounces Meredith a little, focusing only on her.

David picks at his food quietly. He knows very well Nicola fights her own fights.

“My mom is trained as a nurse,” Louis says. “For babies. A baby nurse. I’m not sure what the word is. She quit to raise my sisters, but she knows a lot about babies. I have four sisters.”

“Four, wow. How old are they?” Nicola asks.

“Lottie’s eleven, Fizz is six, Phoebe and Daisy are twins, they’re a few months shy of two,” he rattles off, very used to giving the breakdown.

“Does your mom hold a baby’s neck like this?”

Louis laughs hard and somehow the tension breaks and Liam can smile. “She just slings them over her shoulder like a dish rag, so I’ll say you’re doing fine.”

Emboldened by Louis, Liam is able to distract his father -- and therefore gain the attention of the table -- with discussion of football. He finds a common ground in saying terrible things about the Green Bay Packers, when in reality they are the two-time world champions. Their performance this season is uncharacteristically poor and his dad still finds reasons to shout about their undeserved narrow victory over the Bears two weeks ago.

Louis smirks a little, he’s more than a little used to dealing with Harry’s long and loving ramblings dedicated to the Packers, so feigning interest in football is familiar territory for him. He bullshits easily alongside Liam, saying all the right things. For a moment, Liam thinks Louis’ charmed his father.  

“I’m just glad to see the back end of Vince Lombardi,” Louis says.

“That smug bastard, good riddance,” his dad says, lifting his glass in a salute.

“There is something to be said about winning with grace.”

Louis is on fire and Liam swells with pride.

“Do you play football at all, Lewis?” his dad says, and that about does Liam in. His dad knows how to pronounce Louis’ name and Liam’s seen Louis break a person in half -- verbally, that is -- for saying it wrong. Liam corrects him, quickly, quietly.

“Louis?” his dad repeats carefully, like he can’t quite understand why it’s said that way.

“Like the king,” Liam says, which is usually Louis’ follow up line. Louis customarily ends with _now kneel, peasant_ , but Liam’s not willing to go that far.

Louis barely conceals a snort and quick glance from Liam confirms that Louis’ eyes shine with pride and Liam loves him so much.

“I don’t play football, I’m more of a soccer kind of guy,” Louis answers.

Liam’s dad makes a little harrumph of disinterest and that puts an end to the short streak of success.

Dinner can’t end fast enough. When sports talk dries up, all that’s left is silence and forks scraping and the occasional compliments to the chef. It is a genuinely delicious meal, thankfully, and Liam enjoys stuffing his face too full to actually talk. He only fights the impulse to fill the silence for a short time before launching into a story about Harry’s mom showing him how to make homemade pasta last week.

He’s in the middle of describing the small metal grinder-looking machine used to thin out the fresh spaghetti when his mom begins, “I traded Mary Winston my pumpkin bread recipe for the recipe she uses for that tomato sauce on Tuesday. It says she uses two teaspoons of cumin, though, I suspect she’s trying to sabotage me. She’s always so protective of things like that.”

“We should have that with the meatloaf on Saturday,” his dad says. “Leave off the cumin.”

Liam nods to himself, figuring his story was pretty much done anyway. Once the meal is finished, he excuses himself to the bathroom around the corner from the living room to splash water on his face to calm himself. He didn’t realize how stressed he felt about the whole situation until he left the situation. Just as he’s thinking it’s dangerous to leave Louis alone with his parents, someone knocks on the bathroom door.

“Just a minute, please,” Liam says, toweling off his face.

The door opens anyway and Louis scoots in, pressing it closed quietly behind him. “Hey,” he says softly and it’s enough to break Liam.

“Hey,” Liam answers, his eyes filling with tears. He feels completely mortified but he can’t stop them.

“Oh, Liam. You are strong,” Louis says firmly and kisses him on his forehead. “And noble.” A kiss to one of his cheeks. “And perfect.” A final kiss to his mouth. “And warm.” He runs his thumb over Liam’s other cheek to grab the stray tear falling down. As he rests his forehead to Louis’, Liam heaves a sigh, not even thinking about how he’s breathing directly into Louis’ face.

Louis continues, “And I’m going to tell them just that because they deserve to be reminded every day.”

“Don’t,” Liam pleads, pulling his head up so sharply he hurts his neck a little.

Louis scowls in disappointment. “You shouldn’t let them walk all over you.”

“It will only make things worse. Please.” Liam manages to pull himself together, wiping a little more thoroughly at his eyes and checking his face for redness in the mirror.

“How do you expect anything to change if you just let them keep pushing you around?” Louis props an impatient hand on his hip, so Liam knows he’s really done it now.

 _I don’t expect anything to change_ , Liam does not say.

Louis seems to recognize Liam doesn’t have a response, so he says, “Fine. It’s whatever you want, Liam.” He sighs deeply. “Ready to throw ourselves back to the wolves?”

“I just need a minute. You can go. We shouldn’t… together.”

Louis raises his eyebrows before nodding even though Liam knows he doesn’t agree. “Yeah.”

He leaves Liam alone in the bathroom to breathe a few more desperate breaths.  He washes his face again for good measure and actually pees before he’s stopped shaking enough to be presentable.

He returns to the living room to find his mom distributing coffee to his dad and David. Nicola fiddles with the record player in the corner and Louis stands by the fireplace, two mugs in hand. He holds a mug out for Liam, who takes it gratefully and sits on the couch. Louis watches him like a hawk from his perch as Liam sips at the steaming liquid hesitantly. Hot cocoa with peppermint, the official taste of a Payne Family Christmas.

The record player comes to life, the familiar strings and horns of one of his mom’s favorite records filling the room. It’s soft and sensual, the kind of music that stirs something in Liam’s soul, the kind of music Liam belts along to when no one else has come home from work yet and it’s just him and Ella Fitzgerald or Frank Sinatra for a few hours when it’s not him and the piano.

“Oh, I like this one,” Louis says, setting down his mug of cocoa and swaying his hips back and forth slowly to the brass. “ _I put a spell on you_ ,” he croons just moment behind Nina Simone, approaching Liam slowly with hooded eyes entirely inappropriate for an audience with Liam’s parents and sister and sister’s husband and sister’s newborn daughter. “‘ _Cause you’re mine._ ”

Liam forgets to breathe a little and then he forgets himself because all that matters in the world is Louis as he leans over Liam where he sits on his recliner and pulls Liam’s mug out of his hand to set it down as well. He tangles his fingers in with Liam’s and pulls him up off the couch, twirls him and pulls him close into a sway. He thinks he sees David give Nicola a little twirl of their own.

 _What do you think you’re doing_ , Liam does not say. There’s that intensity of intent in Louis’ eyes that makes Liam want to crumble, because it’s that intensity that means he has all of Louis’ attention and nothing else in Louis’ world matters but Liam.

“ _You better stop the things you do, I ain’t lyin’,_ ” Louis sings softly into Liam’s ear. Liam’s eyes drift closed with the hypnotizing rocking back and forth.

Until the record stops suddenly, scratching a little, and Liam jolts back from Louis. They turn to the record player, where his dad stands over it, looking furious.

“Liam,” his mom says quietly. Nicola and David are suddenly looking incredibly busy with the baby.

“Liam,” Louis adds, his voice quiet still, but now in a dangerous way that gets Liam tense.

Blood sounds like it’s rushing in his ears and his face heats and he doesn’t know who to side with. Liam stands in the middle of his living room, rendered paralyzed by the crisis, looking at no one, and wishing like hell he could run away from this until everyone just forgets it happened.

Louis runs instead, turning swiftly on his heel and shooting out of the room. Liam’s parents say nothing, and he can’t look at them right now. Liam takes a moment before he walks after him, seeing Louis snatch his coat from the rack by the door and leaving without bothering to put it on.

“Louis, wait,” Liam calls after him, forgoing his own jacket in favor of gaining space on Louis. Louis just barrels on down the road, bundling up as he goes, so Liam starts into a jog and makes up the distance easily. He catches Louis’ elbow, which stops Louis in his tracks and nearly causes Liam to collide into him.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Louis spits and Liam takes a step back instinctively, letting go of his arm immediately.

“Louis,” Liam says because he hasn’t actually thought about what he should say once he caught up to him.

“That was an embarrassment, Liam, absolutely humiliating.” Louis draws himself up to make himself appear bigger than he is, and even though Liam has inches on him, Louis always manages to make him feel small when he does this.

“We talked about my parents, you know you can’t do that kind of thing,” Liam mumbles, easily feeling as embarrassed as Louis does. Liam isn’t even really clear on what happened, it just happened, and he _let_ it happen.

“Why not?” Louis asks even though he knows exactly why not.

“They’re not -- it’s complicated, they’re not ready for that kind of thing.”

“I fucking _knew_ you didn’t tell them,” Louis says with an accusatory finger poking at Liam’s chest. “I thought maybe they didn’t care about us, that they didn’t care about what makes you happy so long as you’re happy, or something. Or that maybe they didn’t care because they’re not interested in your life, that your lack of self-worth was homegrown, and I was prepared to hate them for that. But this is so much worse, Liam, because it was _you_. You’re ashamed of us. You’re ashamed of me.”

Liam’s eyes widen in shock because he could never _never_ be ashamed of Louis, not when Louis is his entire world. “I am not ashamed of you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell them?”

“We aren’t telling everyone, we don’t walk down the street holding hands, we talked about that.”

They have discussed this. They don’t go on real dates, they don’t kiss each other in public, and they don’t tell people they’re in love. It’s just not done. It’s safer this way.

“Your parents aren’t _everyone_. I mean, you haven’t even introduced me to them.”

“You’ve met them,” Liam says defensively, glossing over the point, he knows.

“Yeah, at a boxing match or when we bump into each other at the grocery store.” Louis flaps his hand dismissively, and Liam hates it. Louis is dismissive towards everyone else, but he is never dismissive towards Liam. “I’m your Best Friend Louis, not your Boyfriend Louis, or even just the guy you’re in love with. I don’t feel like I’m being _unreasonable_ , Liam. This is the second time I've been to your house _ever_. It sure sounds like you want me to be a secret from the people you love. That’s a cruel thing to do to a person. Make them into a secret.”

“That’s not true.”

“You told me to _behave_ ,” Louis spits, all venom in the word he hates so much.

Tears spring to Liam’s eyes, the cold air stinging everything. His eyes shoot to the ground because the last thing he needs is Louis looking at him crying. Louis knows, though, he knows, and Liam isn’t surprised when Louis’ hand appears on his cheek, wiping at it and pulling his face up. It cools Liam instantly, how quickly Louis connects with him.

“Do you understand why this upsets me?” Louis asks and Liam just nods. “Will you talk to your parents?”

Liam can’t answer. He doesn’t feel any different about the situation. If his parents’ reaction in his living room was any small indication of how they could feel about Liam being in love with Louis -- he can’t.

He hesitates for too long and Louis pulls his hand away from his face. “You should go back inside before you catch a cold,” Louis says, and he’s not dark or angry anymore, just disappointed. Maybe betrayed.

“I love you,” Liam answers and he feels pathetic.

“I love you too,” Louis answers. “That’s kind of the worst part.” He spins around again and stomps down the sidewalk. Liam doesn’t run after him.

He wraps his arms around his chest, he is shivering and hadn’t even noticed. He can’t bring his feet to move him into his house because warmth isn’t really waiting for him there either. He watches after Louis until his jean jacket is no longer visible in the darkness.

David and Nicola are conspicuously absent from the living room when Liam finally returns. His freezing skin prickles at the heat emanating from the fireplace. Either the fireplace or the heat of his parents’ eyes watching him carefully, disapproval already coloring their faces.

“Liam, have a seat,” his dad says so Liam sits. “Your behavior recently concerns us, and your friendship with this boy--”

“Louis,” Liam says. His dad knows Louis’ name, he’s just trying to demean Louis. It gets under Liam’s skin in a way he doesn’t usually allow it to.

His dad’s eyes darken at the correction and Liam throws his eyes to the floor. “After whatever this display was tonight, Liam…” his dad continues. “We’re not allowing that kind of behavior inside our house. He’s a bad influence.”

Liam remembers their first Halloween, then, Louis cocking his eyebrow and smirking. _Haven’t your parents heard? I am apparently a “Bad Influence.”_

“He’s not a bad influence,” Liam mumbles. He looks over to his mom, he’s not even sure why. He doesn’t find an ally in her, he only finds her face colored with sadness.

“We think it’s best if you maybe spent some time apart from him,” she adds.

“Between the boxing and the track team,” he dad says, “and I want to bring you in at one of the factories, you won’t have a lot of time for him. You have to leave enough time to be part of this family.”

“No,” Liam says before he can think better of it. Louis is his family, he’s told Liam so.

“Excuse me?” his father says. “Did you just say no?”

Louis was right and Liam was wrong. Liam has the chance to fix everything now, he can make things better. He can give Louis what he wants, what he deserves. But fixing everything with Louis means ruining everything with his parents, and it’s cruel to make Liam choose. He doesn’t want to choose.

He buries his face in his hands and tries to take steady breaths, but the air comes out ragged and too fast and panicky.

“I love him,” Liam tells his hands.

“What did you say?”

“I love him,” Liam tells his dad.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” his dad says dismissively and Liam is tired of being dismissed.

Liam rises to his feet and makes for the door. He’s not this kind of child, he doesn’t create trouble. He’s a good kid. He’s not the kind of kid who runs when his parents are mad at him. He’s not the kind of kid whose parents get mad at him. He hears his parents call out after him, but he ignores them, slamming the front door behind him.

He trusts his feet to take him where he needs to go and he tries to leave everything behind him as he runs, jacketless again and defenseless against the cold. This is perhaps the most dramatic move he’s made in his life, the kind of thing that only happens in the movies, and he would laugh about it if he wasn’t so utterly terrified of the consequences of his actions.

He lays on the doorbell far too long for the late hour, which is impolite, but this is an emergency. Louis answers the door, thank god, though he looks perturbed at the disturbance and a little surprised once he realizes it’s Liam. Liam pushes in, pinning Louis to the wall, trying to fit kisses in between the deep breaths he needs to calm down from his freezing run. He shivers as he kisses Louis like he’s trying to steal Louis’ breath to settle himself.

Louis pushes against Liam’s chest a little but Liam barely registers it, he just presses in further because the only thing he needs right now is to feel Louis. Then Louis pushes a little harder and Liam falls back, looking down at him with confusion.

Louis looks back up at him with enough fury that Liam takes another half step back. “What are you doing?” he demands.

“I told my parents,” Liam says, which is answer enough because Louis’ face immediately softens.

“Oh,” Louis says, pulling Liam back by the neck and resting their foreheads together. “How did that go?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Liam says. “I kind of ran away before they had the chance to react.”

Louis snorts and shakes his head a little, but he doesn’t seem mad. “Of course you did.”

Liam shifts on his feet. “Can I stay?”

“Of course you can,” he says softly.

Louis takes him by the hand and leads him upstairs to his room. He slowly removes Liam’s -- well, Louis’ -- grey sweater and shirt, which do feel as though they’re frozen to his skin. He carefully relieves Liam of his pressed black trousers next, and Liam thinks this might be headed somewhere he probably isn’t in the mood for until Louis presses the navy blue pajamas Liam keeps in Louis’ room into his hands.

They settle into Louis’ bed, Louis bundling the two of them up carefully, draping himself around Liam, and slowly through the combination of body heat and Louis’ attention, Liam feels like his bones are no longer composed of ice and he can relax into Louis’ arms.

“Happy birthday,” Liam says when their breathing has become in sync and they’re both about to drift into sleep.

“Happy anniversary,” Louis mumbles into Liam’s shoulder before kissing it.

In the quiet moments he has alone before he goes to sleep, the weight of the day crashes down on him and he tries not to wake Louis with the unevenness of his breathing.

He didn’t want to tell his parents because telling his parents weighted their relationship down into a reality that Liam didn’t like. He wanted Louis to stay where he was, untouchable by anyone who would disapprove. He wanted their love to be theirs, a quiet, beautiful thing they didn’t have to share with anyone or explain to anyone. He wanted them to just be together. That doesn’t seem like an option anymore.

And even if he did want to tell them, this isn’t how he would have wanted to do it. He didn’t want to feel cornered like Louis made him feel cornered, like he didn’t have any other options. He feels like his hand was forced, like what he wanted was being ignored or disrespected. He’s used to it, but he wonders maybe if he shouldn’t have to be used to it. And he wonders if Louis knew exactly what he was doing in that living room, provoking Liam in front of his parents because he knew what the consequences would be.

He pushes that feeling to the back of his mind and tries to remind himself of what he has, literally sitting right in his hands. He knows that Louis will take care of him, no matter what, and he has to be grateful for that. He’s not sure what he would be without Louis and he never feels like he’s worthy.

“I love you,” Liam says and he hopes that’s enough.

\--


	9. December 20, 1976

_ _

_(The Tears of a Clown - Smokey Robinson)_

* * *

_December 20, 1976_

 

Louis knows going to the winter festival is going to be a mistake, but he goes anyway. The girls are excited for the games, dancing, and free hot chocolate. They could stay at home and drink free hot chocolate, Louis argues, but ten-year-olds are notoriously averse to reason.

They bundle up and pile into his mom’s station wagon. Fizz claims the passenger seat, the twins sandwich Lottie in the back seat, and Louis clambers into the trunk to crouch into the jump seat. He knows he’s not a tall person, but he’s the tallest of any of them, surely he warrants not being shoved in the trunk. But they all fall into their positions in the car naturally, from years of habit, and Louis isn’t going to argue.

Parking at the high school is nothing short of a nightmare. Louis almost leaps from the trunk to deck a guy who nearly T-bones Phoebe’s side of the car in attempt to steal their parking spot.

The twins tug at Lottie’s arms, trying to drag her forward and leaving the rest of them behind like they’re chopped liver. They’ve been Lottie-focused all day, Louis’ noticed, and he tries not to feel like a discarded old toy. They don’t know him, so they haven’t missed him like they’ve missed Lottie.

The football field is littered with vendors lining the track and games on the field; a string of lights and arrows point patrons to the gym, which promises bingo, dancing, and refreshments. Louis loses his mom to bingo and the girls to the games pretty quickly but he doesn’t feel like doing anything.

In his day, he’d have taken the festival by storm with his boys: break into the announcement booth to switch off the Christmas music and patch in the Rolling Stones, cheat at half the games, smoke behind the bleachers and just generally be a terror.

Instead he pulls his cap low, shoves his cold fingers as far into his coat pockets as he can, and shuffles along the vendor booths, glancing at advertisements for local businesses and homemade jewelry and knick knacks for sale. It’s a small mercy it’s not snowing, otherwise the night would be ruined.

Louis is surprised to find Harry and Niall at the forty yard line, sitting with their heads ducked together in a booth titled Heart and Soles.

“What’s this about?” Louis says, drawing their attention. He glances down at the literature on the table, back to the three large boxes behind them labeled _shoes_ , _clothing_ , and _food_ , slowly clicking the pieces together.

“Hey, Tommo,” Harry says, dimpling a smile up at him. He spreads his arms wide. “Welcome.”

“It’s donations. For veterans,” Niall supplies because he’s useful and Harry isn’t.

“Oh yeah?” Louis says and makes them tell him the whole story.

It started with a joke, of course it did, one from Niall about having to buy a pair of shoes for just the one foot. Niall had wished he could find another vet with his right leg off so they could trade their useless shoes. Harry being Harry wrote the VA for information and six months later, Niall was trading shoes with four other wounded vets around the Midwest. Within a year, they brokered a deal with the Marquette post office to mail their shoeboxes across the country for free, officially creating an organization called Heart and Soles. (The name was Harry’s idea. Obviously.) They eventually expanded to include used clothing and non-perishable food items, basically anything they could squeeze in their shoeboxes.

“Unemployment rates for veterans are skyrocketing,” Harry says, “especially in the last year since the war’s ended.”

“Thousands of us coming home at once, unable to find a place. Particularly those of us without all our parts.” Niall gestures to his leg, as if Louis could forget.

“That’s,” Louis starts. He doesn’t know how to articulate it, nothing seems like enough. “That’s amazing.”

Harry shrugs. “We do as much as we can.”

“On our own. Because the VA center in Chicago won’t take your phone calls anymore,” Niall jokes. He turns a very serious look to Louis. “This guy called them every day for six weeks until they agreed to send our information out to veterans who could benefit from it.”

“I’m persistent.”

“I think the phrase they used was _a fucking pain in the ass_.”

Harry frowns over at Niall. “That wasn’t very polite.”

“Their words, not mine,” Niall reiterates.

Louis feels inconsequential looking at them and the life they’ve built together. They have a purpose when Louis feels directionless. They’re doing something good when Louis isn’t doing a fucking thing. All of the sudden Louis feels like he’s intruding and it’s getting hard to keep the supportive grin on his face.

Niall reaches over to the grab his thermos from the table to shake it. “Last of the coffee,” he laments.

“I’m on it,” Harry says, collecting the thermos and throwing a smile to Louis before he lopes off for a refill.

Niall watches him go before turning back to Louis and casually suggesting, “Take a seat, Tommo.”

He gestures to the folding chair Harry vacated and Louis realizes Harry was sent away. Niall had taken advantage of Harry’s desire to help while still making Harry feel like it was his choice to go. It was devious and clever. Louis doesn’t know if he’s impressed by his technique or irritated on Harry’s behalf. He can’t really be upset because he does this to Harry too, but Louis is Louis and Niall is Niall.

“I should find my sisters,” Louis says.

“Take a seat, Tommo.” Niall repeats, casual as ever, but now it’s not a suggestion.

Louis sits obediently. Turns out Niall has him just as trained as Harry.

“Stop it,” Niall says, his face growing serious as he leans closer to Louis over the armrest on his wheelchair.

Niall reads Louis too easily or Louis doesn’t know how to mask his discomfort as well as he thought. Louis considers retorting _stop what_ and making the lecture about to come too hard to say so Niall just gives up. But Louis wants to stop, he wants to feel like they haven’t outgrown him. He wants to be told he has nothing to worry about.

“I’ll try,” he says honestly.

Niall’s eyebrows quirk up in surprise. “Oh. Well.” He considers this development. “I had several very good reasons lined up why you should stop it, so I’m just going to say them anyway.”

“Yeah,” Louis allows.  Because why the hell not.

“You don’t have to do anything. We don’t need you to do anything, okay?”

“I know,” Louis says, trying not to sound bitter. He knows they don’t need him. “Look what you’ve done, though. How am I supposed to compete with that?”

“You don’t,” Niall says firmly. “Harry doesn’t do this because he feels guilty or he pities us. He just does it because it needs to be done, that’s how he justifies it in his head. He’s our resource, not our hero. If you go about it any other way, it feels cheap.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says because he’s not sure if he hasn’t already done this.

“Nothing to be sorry about. I just like to be proactive.” Niall shrugs and puts on a grin. For all the weight of his words, he feels easy again. “Harry says it makes people uncomfortable, but I can be apologized to for only so long, you know? I’d rather just not worry about it, you know?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, nodding like he understands when he might not. Niall just wants things to be normal. Louis can handle normal.

“They say all my tact leaked out when they cut my leg off,” Niall says with a bark of laughter.

Louis doesn’t find it funny, but he has to. If it’s not funny, then it just hurts.

“Didn’t know you had any to begin with,” he says snidely. He follows that up with a dive to twist Niall’s nipple. Niall slaps back at him, and though his movement is more hindered than Louis’, he gets a few good punches in.

“All right, children,” Harry says. Their heads whip up to see Harry beaming down at them with the thermos in one hand and three napkin-wrapped cookies in the other.

“I started it,” Louis says proudly. “And I’d do it again.”

“Louis and I are going to play some games,” Niall says, but it has a kind of questioning tone to it.

Louis turns wide, hopeful eyes to him because apparently now we ask Harry for permission before we do things. “Please, ma?”

“Only if you win me a teddy bear,” Harry says, handing the cookies to Niall. “A big one. If it’s smaller than my head, don’t bother coming back.”

“Where are my cookies?” Louis asks, getting his hand slapped as he reaches for Niall’s.

“In the gym with the rest of the cookies,” Harry says, waving them off.

He rises and waits for Niall to scoot around the table first. Louis doesn’t move beyond the table, looking down at Harry, who is deaf to the rest of the world as he settles into Louis’ chair and pours himself some of the coffee into a styrofoam cup on the table. He doesn’t bother to ask Niall if he wants some, even though Niall is the reason he went to get it. So Harry knows and he plays his part anyway. He still does whatever he can to please everyone, even if it ends up being at his own expense.

Louis worries about him, he should say something to Harry so he’ll change that about himself, but Niall is shouting from the fifty yard line, “Get a move on, Tommo.”

As Louis approaches and rests his hands on the handles of Niall’s wheelchair, he says, “You should build a bar into the back of this thing so I can have a ride.”

“So I have to carry me and your fat ass around? No, thank you,” Niall says playfully. “My arms aren’t that strong.”

“Excuse you,” Louis shrieks. He dives for the cookies sitting in Niall’s lap, simultaneously delivering a slap to the dick and stealing the cookies, and he takes off running.

“Fuck you,” Niall shouts before adding a smaller apology. Louis turns to walk backwards and sees Niall smiling placatingly at a family with a couple of kids standing scandalized by Niall’s language. Louis huffs out laughter, turning around only to shutter to a stop just inches before he slams into Liam.

Liam’s eyebrows are quirked in surprise and Louis just pants at him, horribly out of shape and out of breath, unsure what to say. Liam’s eyes flick beyond Louis, not doubt to where Niall is working to catch up, then down to the cookies Louis is crushing in his hand. Liam quickly snatches the cookies, the fucking spoilsport, but then he pops one into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully to rub it in, before pushing past Louis. Louis gapes after him, watching Liam dump the other two cookies into Niall’s lap and walk off.

“Interference,” Louis snaps, pointing after Liam. He pretends goosebumps didn’t shoot up his arm when Liam brushed his hand to steal the cookies.

“Unfair advantage on the leg race, Tommo,” Niall snaps back. He seems completely unfazed by the interaction. “But I’m about to kick your ass at the range.” He takes lead and guides Louis to a booth with an old Wild West saloon theme to it, one of those things where you shoot fake bottles of whiskey and toothless old men with a bb gun.

“Definitely unfair,” Louis mumbles as Niall chats at the attendant and passes him a dollar for both of their rounds.

Watching Niall take down every target with incredible precision, even from his seated position, stirs something in Louis. He can see Niall in war, he can see real people on the receiving end of the gun. He doesn’t know if Niall sees it that way, or if he can turn it off, even as he tracks the targets that move back and forth on a pulley. Niall gets six shots and knocks down the six hardest targets. He looks proud of himself as he hands the BB gun over to Louis.

“You’re welcome to come over and polish my Purple Heart when you lose, motherfucker.” Niall laughs, no doubt at the astounded look Louis knows colors his face. Louis doesn’t offer his own stakes in return.

Louis doesn’t like the weight of the gun in his hand, even though he knows it won’t do much real damage. He waits for the attendant to finish resetting the scene before Louis hefts the gun up to shoot.

“Tuck it into your shoulder here,” Niall says, illustrating with his hands. “You’re going to want a more grounded stance.”

Louis tucks the gun into his shoulder and widens his legs slowly until Niall stops swiping at them. Louis’ breath floats thick in the cold air, obscuring his view, until he clamps his mouth shut. He thinks he’s sighted a safe looking piece of tin painted like a Jack Daniels bottle. He squeezes the trigger and shakes with the kick of the gun, and the bb doesn’t hit anywhere near its intended target.

Louis shudders out a breath. He doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like holding the gun, he doesn’t like having to make the decision to pull the trigger, he doesn’t like the implication, even if this is just a game.

He hands the gun back to Niall and says shortly, “Not for me.”

Niall nods, smiling at Louis not with humor but understanding. He sets the gun on the counter instead of taking Louis’ remaining five shots.

“You get a prize,” the attendant tells Niall, looking between the two of them with confusion.

“Do you have teddy bears?” Niall asks.

“No.”

“Then I’ll pass.”

They move on in silence away from the booth, both seeming to have lost the taste for games. Louis can’t ask him how he can live with knowing how to take a life.

“I should find my sisters,” Louis says just as Niall starts to say, “I should get back to Harry.”

They chuckle at each other, but it’s strained. Life with Niall is never strained, the feeling is so unnatural. Louis feels like he should apologize for some reason.

“Come have dinner with us tomorrow,” Niall says. “We’re having a boys night, try to steal Zayn from Perrie, it’ll be great.”

“Like old times,” Louis chips in.

“Yeah,” Niall says, his face brightening with a smile. “We could probably arrange for a little mischief.”

That’s what they all need, for everything to be just like old times.

Louis finds the girls on the other end of the field. Daisy methodically tosses rings at a sea of bottles as Fizz looks on and offers advice. Phoebe bounces at Daisy’s side, anxious for her turn, but leaps at Louis when she sees him.

“Louis, Louis, guess what?” she shouts.

“You met the President of the United States?” Louis guesses, squatting down to look at her face.

“No!” She makes this little face like _Don’t be stupid, Louis_ and Louis loves it.

Louis puts on a thinking face and taps at his chin. “Hmmm. You drank seventeen hot chocolates in a row?”

“Noooo.”

“You stumped me,” Louis says, throwing his hand up, a pained look on his face.

“Liam gave us quarters,” Phoebe explains, all but shoving her fist full of quarters in Louis’ face. “Now we can play _all_ ofthe games.”

“That’s great, babe,” Louis says, keeping his smile plastered onto his face. Liam says he takes care of them because he loves them. They clearly want him to take care of them and Louis has decided he can’t get in the way of that. He straightens up and makes a show of counting each of his sisters before propping his hands on his hips. “Where’s Lottie?”

Phoebe points off to where Lottie and Eleanor stand together a few yards away on the track. He can see Lottie is talking, her face stained with worry. Eleanor stands with slumped shoulders and a dark look on her face, silent until it looks like she lashes out at something Lottie says. Louis doesn’t like the look of hurt on Lottie’s face, which causes him to approach them.

Eleanor sees him coming and shifts back. Lottie turns to look at him. She seems to be shaking her head at him, like she’s trying to wave him off coming, but it’s too late.

“Good evening, ladies,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows at each of them, inviting an explanation for their behavior. They don’t greet him back.

“Be careful, Lots,” Eleanor says, her voice flat. “It’s real nice to have your brother back until you realize he’s broken.” She throws a look of disdain to Louis and stalks off.

Louis looks after her with confusion. “The hell did that mean?”

“Nothing,” Lottie mumbles. “She’s just being dramatic.”

Louis loops an arm around her shoulder and leads her to where the rest of their sisters are still playing at the ring toss. “What’s going on?”

“She’s just _stuck_ here,” Lottie says, her worry turning quickly into anger. “I told her she should apply to my school, get out of here and do something with her life. It’d make her happier. But she’d rather sit around and be sad. I’m sorry she lost her brother and all, but it happens and eventually you just have to accept that or you’ll go crazy.”

Lottie says it like she’s speaking from experience, like she had to move on from losing Louis. That’s how Lottie must have looked at it, like she lost her brother, like he died. Fizz looked at it like he left them, like their dad. They had to find their own ways to cope with Louis dodging the war. He thought about leaving them, about the possibility of leaving his family forever. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do, but he had to do it. He didn’t have any other choice. There was the possibility of being able to come home, at least. Louis got to come back and Jack didn’t. The thought of dying in the war outweighed every other option.

Louis stops in his tracks and tugs Lottie into a hug. She squeezes back, tucking her head into his neck. “You understand why I had to go, right?” he says.

She pulls away from him. “Yeah, I understand,” she says, frowning up at him. “Didn’t make it any easier though.”

Lottie moves away toward the rest of their siblings at the ring toss and Louis is slow on the uptake to follow after her.

“Do you want to play, Louis? We have enough quarters,” Daisy says as soon as he catches up. Phoebe seems to be chucking the plastic rings without regard at the sea of bottles and they bounce off onto the ground.

“That’s okay, babe, I think I’ll go get some hot chocolate,” Louis says, “Do you girls need one? Fizz?”

“I can get my own,” Fizz says, crossing her arms.

“We’re okay, thanks,” Lottie says soothingly. She’s too grown up sometimes, she’s taken the place of the eldest sibling, looking out for her own. Louis is too proud to feel upset over being replaced.

He does feel bad that he keeps ejecting himself from uncomfortable situations, running away before he’s confronted. But not bad enough to stop doing it.

The hot chocolate in the gym is delicious, Louis will grant that, but he doesn’t think it’s worth the trip here.

He spies Zayn skirting the edge of the dance floor, swaying very slowly and carefully because Josie has her feet perched on top of his feet. He’s holding both of her hands up very carefully and she watches Zayn move his feet with deep concentration.

It’s a beautiful picture, it’s kind of everything Louis wants. A life that’s extraordinary because it’s ordinary.

He doesn’t want to interrupt, but the power of his staring must alert Zayn subconsciously, because Zayn looks up, smiles, and beckons with a nod of his head. He lifts Josie lightly and sets her on the floor, ready to greet him.

“Surprised to see you out,” Louis says.

“Perrie kicked me out,” Zayn replies. “Says I was _hovering_. Making her nervous.”

Zayn makes a face and Louis laughs at him. He’s never seen Zayn as anything other than relaxed and in control, he can’t even imagine what Dad Zayn looks like. He laughs at the image of Zayn puttering around at a million miles per hour asking Perrie if she needs a pillow or a cup of water or a foot rub.

“Hope she doesn’t go into labor while you’re out on the town, dancing with other women,” Louis smirks. Josie looks up at them with her giant brown eyes, not looking sociable in the least.

“Don’t,” Zayn says with a pained look. “Don’t even joke.”

“Good evening, Josie,” Louis says, kneeling down to her level. He gives her a warm smile. Soon he’s going to launch his campaign for favorite uncle. “Have you had some of this hot chocolate? It’s delicious.”

Josie shakes her head and tugs on Zayn’s pant leg before raising her arms until he gets the hint. Zayn scoops her up with ease and she whispers into his ear, throwing a furtive glance to Louis. Louis feels his smile falling.

“Yeah, babe,” Zayn says gently in response. He bites his lip and throws a guilty a look to Louis. “She wants to go see Harry.”

Louis nods vigorously. “Excellent choice,” he says with approval that he doesn’t feel. “He’s in a booth on the track. Good night, you two.”

He backs away before Zayn can say anything like an apology for his kid absolutely hating Louis. He returns to the table of treats, snatching up a few of the cookies he didn’t get to try earlier and getting a refill of hot chocolate. He needs treats, he deserves treats.

Louis can see Keating approaching him out of the corner of his eye and he can’t help muttering to himself, “Jesus fucking Christ.” He’s not in the mood. Well, he’s never in the mood, not to see Keating’s face or listen to Keating talk, but now specifically, Louis isn’t in the mood. There aren’t any obvious avenues for escape.

“Tomlinson,” says Keating, his bloated face pinched in a sneer. Louis doesn’t attempt to stifle his impatient sigh. The hits just keep coming.

“Wouldn’t your time be better spent crushing the hopes and dreams of children who are _not_ already disillusioned with the world?” Louis says, disdain dripping on every word. He looks Keating up and down and takes a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Trademark Tomlinson wit, ineffective as ever.”

“Can I help you in some way?”

“The war,” Keating says.

Louis tsks at him and makes a regretful face. “Afraid I skipped out on that one. The slaughtering of innocent people in the name of politics wasn’t exactly my bag, you know?”

“Don’t pretend like you dodged for any reason other than cowardice,” Keating says with an indignant laugh.

“I’m not a coward.” Louis’ eyes narrow and his mouth settles into a hard line. Of all the people to accuse of cowardice. Louis isn’t the coward, it’s the members of their government that started the war who are the cowards. The ones who lied to kids, filled them with a false sense of patriotism and sent them off to be killed, they’re the ones who are the cowards. Louis isn’t a coward for seeing their deception for what it was.

“That’s what it is, though. Because then you’d have to stand for something. Then you’d have to put the lives of others before yourself. You’d have to think about someone else first, and you can’t do that, can you? I see you for what you are, and a coward is the least of it.”

He can’t imagine what in the _fuck_ he has ever done to this piece of shit person to deserve this kind of treatment. From anyone, really, let alone his teacher, who’s spent years willfully creating the wrong impression of Louis. He’s not a coward just because he didn’t want to go to war. He’s not selfish just because he didn’t want to go to war, and to imply that all soldiers -- especially the kind who were involved in things like the My Lai massacre -- are selfless because they’re willing to sacrifice themselves for their country is downright ridiculous.

Louis is tired of being accused of being something less than sensible. More accurately, anything less than being the only fucking sane person he knows.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Louis spits.

“Jack died, I know you remember Jack. He was your friend, wasn’t he? One of your partners in crime,” Keating taunts. Louis clamps his jaw shut to keep from trembling. Keating doesn’t get to see him shake. “There was Joseph,” Keating says, his voice faltering for a moment, “you didn’t know him, but he was a good kid. Died in ’63, not much of him left to send home to his mother. What makes you think their lives are less valuable than yours?”

“I never said that,” Louis grits out. “I would never say that.”

Louis doesn’t think there’s anything inherently noble in dying. The fact that they died doesn’t make them saints or erase everything bad they’ve done. He knows he looks down on those soldiers who went to war and knew what the stakes were, the ones who went to kill, the ones who knew they didn’t belong in Vietnam. But he pities the ones who didn’t know any better. All that said, Louis would never devalue a life lost. The loss of a human life is still a loss.

“We lost them, but we got _you_ back, a coward. That’s a sorry trade. No one would choose to make that trade.”

Louis isn’t going to apologize for living. He’s not going to apologize for refusing to go to war. He knows he did the right thing. He feels his chin lift with defiance as he holds Keating’s glare.

“I’m speaking for the community at large when I say we don’t want you here,” Keating growls. “I’m giving your fair warning to run again, with your tail between your legs, or we’ll come for you. Those of us who have lost too much to see you roam free as you please. We’ll send you to the army where you belong, and you’ll get what you deserve.”

The defiance slowly leaks from Louis as Keating’s words settle in. There’s too much to sort through. He’s immediately terrified that he’s going to be turned in. He knows he can’t have gone completely unnoticed during his arrest a few days ago. He doesn’t know what Liam has told anyone. It could be an empty threat -- nobody could be so cruel -- but Louis’ heart begins to thump violently nonetheless.

And then Keating lumped himself in with those who had lost someone to the war, he said _those of us_. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to make any of this Louis’ fault.

Louis pulls his eyes away from Keating, which he knows is a sign of weakness, but he can’t look at him. He sees Liam approaching from his left side, his face set with determination. Liam wedges himself between them, Louis taking the opportunity to casually step to the side, distancing himself from the tension between him and Keating.

“Pardon the interruption, sir,” Liam says to Keating politely before turning to Louis. He doesn’t look him in the eye, though, but speaks to his chin. “Jay is looking for you.”

Louis nods briskly. Thank god for his mom. He has to get away. “Please excuse me and have a _wonderful_ night,” Louis says, throwing the least sincere smile he can manage up to Keating.

Liam doesn’t follow him or show Louis where Jay is waiting for him, because he’s only marginally useful. Louis ducks around people milling with plastic plates and plastic cups on the edge of the dance floor, his eyes sharply scanning the room. He spots his mom finally, but she doesn’t look like she needs Louis at all. She and Dan are wrapped up on the dancefloor, swaying slowly, chatting and laughing quietly to each other.

Liam came to rescue him again. Louis can’t find it in himself to be grateful, instead his skin burns hot with anger. He turns on his heel and sprints for the doors of the gym, tossing his hot chocolate into the trash without finishing it.

He doesn't want to be near people, most specifically these people. He stomps up the stands of the football field, all the way to the top, and throws himself onto a bleacher. He lies out on the cold metal, which makes him feel like he's lying on an iceberg, but he doesn't care. He tries to focus on how uncomfortable the cold is to tear him away from how much he hates this night. He fails.

It’s not fair to hold their deaths over Louis’ head. It’s not his fault, he’s not answerable for it. He shouldn’t be expected to feel survivor’s guilt because he never went to war to begin with.

He left. He dodged. He did what he had to do. It hurts but he doesn't regret it. Sure, he doesn't know his family anymore, he doesn’t have a place in his family anymore, but he's here now for them. He's here and he's not like Jack and he's not like this kid Joseph. Keating's kid Joseph? It doesn’t matter. He's here now and he has to focus on that.

Until the army drags him away, at least, if Keating makes good on his threat. Louis doesn't believe him -- he can't believe him -- because Keating is a son of a bitch who'll say anything to rile him up, to make him angry. Keating has always been that way, even back in school when he'd hold Louis after class to write lines and he'd lean over and tell him that he'd never amount to anything.

Louis supposes for a moment Keating is right. He hasn't amounted to anything yet. He lifts himself up and looks down at the football field where most of his family is, where so much of his town is, and all he sees are strangers.

_I see you for what you are, and a coward is the least of it._

What’s worse than being a coward is being nobody.

\--


	10. December 31, 1969

_(Me & Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin, Fortunate Son - Creedence Clearwater Revival)_

* * *

_December 31, 1969_

Liam stares at the small off-white page that dictates his future. Paper is innocuous, made of dried pulp, apparently, but with ink pressed on it, paper can change lives. This paper changed his life.

He’s due at Louis’ any minute now, he just can’t seem to bring himself to go.

Liam told his parents about the draft notice this morning. He almost didn’t, is the thing. He was going to leave it for them to find tomorrow when they came up to his room to look for him to find out why he never came downstairs for breakfast. He was going to leave it next to his note explaining where he had gone.

He doesn’t know why he blurted it out at all, let alone over breakfast. It was sort of a _can you pass the syrup, also I got drafted into the Army, I leave in three weeks_. He could get a deferral until he graduates from school in June, but he didn’t ask for one. Liam tries to keep a positive attitude about it. He tells them he’s happy to go. He’s happy to serve his country. He’s happy to be part of the greater good. Even if it wasn’t exactly his choice. His mom cried and his dad swelled with pride for the first time in a year. Only his dad would be proud of him for doing something like being legally mandated to join the army. Anything else Liam did wouldn’t be worth his time.

He isn’t leaving in three weeks, that is. Not if Louis has anything to say about it. They’re leaving tomorrow morning, 9 am bus out of town to find some way to sneak into Canada -- Liam is fuzzy on the details because Louis won’t tell him any of them. Being kept in the dark has long passed feeling exhilarating; now Liam is just frustrated.

And terrified. He doesn’t want to leave home at all. He’s scared he doesn’t know where he’s going. He’s scared he doesn’t know what to do. He’s scared that he’s conflicted. He thinks this should be easy -- he should do what Louis tells him to do. That’s what he’s always done and it’s worked out with varying levels of success so far. It’s easier to keep his head down and not question what he’s told, but just this once he doesn’t think he can do it.

He wonders if this is punishment, sometimes, for what they’ve done and who they are to each other. They’re the only people in town drafted in the lottery. They’re looked on with sympathy, but it’s all tinged with _thank god it wasn’t me_. He wouldn’t wish this sentence on anyone, but god, he doesn’t want it for Louis.

Louis had burned his notice as soon as he got it. Liam remembers the look on his face, the quiet rage that smoldered underneath Louis’ surface, the part of Louis that scares Liam the most. Louis stood in his backyard with the page and a lighter, though Liam thought that if Louis looked at it fiercely enough, angry enough, he could find some way to set it on fire with his mind.

Louis put the flame up to the page. He watched the flames lick up it until he was sure the fire had caught. The fire slowly ate up the paper, small pieces and ashes falling to the grass. Liam watched Louis watch the notice burn until the flames climbed up and threatened to burn Louis’ fingers. When Louis didn’t seem to notice, or worse, didn’t seem to care, Liam knocked Louis’ hand and the burning paper fluttered to the ground. Liam stamped it out, but said nothing.

“Where is yours?” Louis asked, turning the fire in his eyes to Liam. Liam almost recoiled.

“I don’t have it,” Liam lied. It was folded in his back pocket.

Louis put his nearly burned fingers to Liam’s chest and fixed him with an intense stare.  

“I’m going to fix this,” he promised Liam.

 _There is nothing to fix_ , Liam did not say.

Louis is throwing them a going away party tonight, under the guise of celebrating New Year’s Eve. Liam will go and play the part and kiss him at midnight and ignore the turning in his stomach that’s kept him from eating lunch and dinner. He throws on his grey sweater and steps down the stairs as slowly as he can, careful not to make any noise.

He’s caught anyway, his mom stands near the door with crossed arms and a sour expression.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“Harry’s,” he answers, which is not _technically_ a lie, considering the party is at Harry’s and he will be headed there once he collects Louis, which is he is definitely not allowed to do.

“Don’t lie to me, Liam Payne.”

“It’s just a New Year’s Eve party. I’ll be home before one. Please,” he adds, irritated that he feels like he still needs her permission or else the whole night will be soured.

He’s going anyway, there’s no real way she can keep him from leaving, but her disapproval will hang over him all night whether he wants it to or not. Just the way her disapproval has been hanging over him for a year already, recalling for him instantly the night last year when he finally came home from hiding at Louis’ and she screamed at him for two straight hours until her voice grew hoarse and then refused to speak to him for a week. He still did everything he could to beg for her forgiveness, even though he didn’t feel he did anything wrong. Liam just can’t stand people to be mad at him, but these days someone always is.

She just sighs at him and walks towards her room, which isn’t necessarily approval, but at least she didn’t yell. He leaves and throws himself into his dad’s rusty pickup truck before she has the opportunity to change her mind and come after him. He zips down the salted streets faster than he should, not slowing down until the tires slide dangerously a few too many times on the road.

He pulls into Louis’ driveway and lets himself into the house, the front door always unlocked for him. The girls are shouting in the living room and Liam is not surprised at all to find Louis chasing them, making a fair bit of noise himself. Jay and Mark appear nowhere to be found.

“Liam!” Fizz thunders and throws herself onto his back.

He grunts under the pressure, but shifts around until she’s safely tucked in his arms. “Aren’t you getting a little old for this sort of thing?” he teases.

“Never!” she cheers, so he prances around the room for a little while until Louis finally looks at him and flashes a brilliant smile, the kind that completely disarms Liam, gets him to do whatever Louis wants.

Liam thinks this is the last time Louis plans to see the girls, the last time he’ll chase them around the living room. He doesn’t know how long the war will be, two years, ten years? Will they even remember him? What if he never gets to come back and watch them grow up? Liam wonders how he can leave them.

What if Louis dies while he’s in Canada and they never find out? Louis would say the same thing about the war though, they could both go and be killed -- it’s far more likely to be killed in war than in Canada, obviously. For all Liam knows, Canada seems pretty peaceful. But it’s the fact of not knowing that scares Liam for either choice he makes. There's probably no phone calls, little to no letters, which he knows from Ruth’s time in Vietnam. In Canada, they risk being found trying to contact home.

If Liam had it his way, he would choose to stay here at home with Louis forever. But nobody’s asking Liam’s opinion.

“Time to go,” Louis says, and the girls whine.

“We don’t have to,” Liam says.

“When have you known me to miss a party?” Louis says, narrowing his eyes playfully.

It’s true enough, Louis goes to all parties everywhere, drags Liam along even when Liam was still in school and hadn’t finished his homework or had to be home in time for curfew. Louis doesn’t know how not to be the center of attention.

Louis makes a fuss of putting them all into bed, Daisy and Phoebe first, though they’re more interested in running around their room and showing Liam every one of their toys and introducing them to him, even though he’s met them dozens of times. Louis peppers their foreheads with kisses and squeezes them up into too many hugs and waits for Liam to say his goodbye, his final goodbye.

Fizz and Lottie whine about staying up until midnight, as it’s only a few hours away. Louis totally would let them, he’d break in an instant, if he didn’t have places to go and people to see. His parents are already asleep, because, as Louis puts it, “They’re old,” so there’s no one to watch them and make sure they get to bed at exactly 12.01.

When they’re done, Louis pulls Liam into his room, presses him against the door and gives him the hello kiss he can’t give around the girls. Liam sighs into it easily, like he always does, and it’s kisses like these that have Liam doubting his resolve. Liam remembers how special it is to be chosen by Louis and to let Louis be his whole world.

Louis pulls away and says, “New shirt, then we go.”

“The one you’re wearing is fine.” It’s red. It’s festive.

Louis just levels a glare at him and starts shuffling through his clothing, which lives pretty much exclusively in permanent residence on his floor. He snatches up a dark blue shirt and puts that on instead. He holds his hands out for Liam’s approval.

“You looked better without a shirt on,” Liam says because that’s what’s expected of him. He sees the calculations take over Louis’ face almost immediately. Liam thinks about it a good deal, a one last time, but he can’t. “We are already late.”

“Hasn’t stopped us before,” Louis says reasonably.

“But tonight is different.”

Louis’ face sours but he doesn’t argue because Liam is right. His and Louis’ boys are waiting on them.

Once they arrive at Harry’s, Louis grabs the door assuredly and leads them both directly down to Harry’s basement, their home base when it’s too cold to take over the backyard. They find their friends gathered onto the floor instead of the furniture, an inclination Liam never understood but also never questioned. Louis throws himself onto Harry’s lap and Liam quietly settles himself next to Zayn, so that’s no different than any other day. Niall has his guitar out and he plucks at it idly, not doing much in the way of playing songs. Liam does not miss the momentary sour face Jack makes at their arrival, but he ignores it the way he always does, never one to welcome conflict.

“How are you?” Zayn asks him quietly.

“I’m all right,” Liam lies, at which Zayn hums but says nothing. He appreciates this about Zayn.

“Are you guys reading the reports on My Lai?” Harry asks.

Louis flinches but Liam thinks he’s the only one who would notice. He’s the only one listening to Louis rail about it, citing it as the reason he knows he has to dodge. Liam thinks it’s not the only reason, but he never mentions that. Louis reaches for the bottle of whiskey Jack has tucked between his legs and takes a hefty swig.

“Fucking piece of shit is what it is,” Louis says. “Absolutely shameful. This is the country we live in, this is the war we’re fighting. Nobody fucking even knows what for.”

“It’s for freedom, isn’t it?” Liam asks.

“Don’t be so fucking naive,” Louis snaps and Liam blinks at him, smarting a little. “It’s not for freedom, they’re just exercising whatever brutish force they feel necessary to terrorize people, to prove we’re better than them. It’s a pissing contest.”

Liam knows what this is like a little better than most people, being bullied. He knows what it’s like to be looked at and be considered inferior. To be hit or laughed at or belittled. So he knows what that is and he doesn’t see it when he looks at the war, he can’t. He can’t believe his country would bully another for the sake of proving its own superiority. Maybe Liam is too young to understand the reason or too uninformed to understand the reason, but he knows there must be a reason.

“I don’t think you can characterize the actions of one group of bad seeds to call everyone else bad,” Liam says. “There are men and women fighting for our freedom. They’re fighting to keep us safe.”

Louis just looks at him like he’s grown another head. Which is fair enough because just five days ago when Louis was saying these exact things in bed, Liam just nodded along like he was supposed to. “What kind of bullheaded bullshit are you picking up from your father?”

“My father didn’t say anything,” Liam says and he’s not trying very hard to keep the petulance from his voice. Sure, his father has plenty to say on the matter, but just because Liam agrees with him doesn’t mean he has to. “The United States Army has never condoned wanton killing or disregard for human life.” Liam parrots the official line, which is actually something his father does say. Louis doesn’t need to know that.

“Have you seen the pictures?” Louis challenges.

“No,” Liam says because they won't print them in newspapers and they can't show them on television. “Have you?”

“Well, no. But there are pictures. And it’s a nightmare. Old men and women. They murdered children.”

“Stop it,” Liam mumbles.

“Some of the children are still in their mother’s arms,” Louis continues. “They say you can see they collapsed where they were shot down in the road trying to escape.”

“Stop it,” Liam says again. Louis stares at him like he can’t figure out what’s going on in Liam’s head.

“Maybe you two will change things over there,” Harry says placatingly, just to say something innocent to stem the potential argument.

Not that Liam would really get going into an argument, he’d do just enough to spur Louis into ranting for ages and souring the mood. Louis raises a skeptical eyebrow at Harry anyway, just to see if Harry believes the bullshit he’s slinging. Harry doesn’t believe it, obviously, but that’s just what he does. He plays innocent and he plays peacemaker until no one can reasonably resume their conflict. Liam gets it -- he hates conflict as much as Harry does, he just can’t throw himself into the middle of it like an intermediary as often as Harry does.

“I give it about two months and Tommo will be running the whole thing,” Niall laughs. “Imagine him as a general, that’d be the fucking funniest thing.”

Louis doesn’t look as pleased as he should that the compliment. Instead he peels at the label on the bottle with a sour expression.

“I don’t think you should go,” Jack says. Liam looks at him sharply, wondering how much he knows. Louis hasn’t even told Harry, he hasn’t told anyone but Liam that they’re leaving. Something about plausible deniability. “I think you should dodge to Canada.”

All the air is sucked from the room, or maybe just Liam’s part of the room. He stares at Jack and Jack stares back at him, his face worked into a challenge.

“That’s illegal,” Harry complains, probably because Liam says nothing and that sort of thing is usually Liam’s job. Somebody has to pretend to be the voice of reason.

“So what?” Louis says. “It’s better than the alternative.”

“Maybe we should just leave it,” Zayn says because he’s the only one who really can reasonably stem the argument before it explodes. Louis listens to Zayn because he doesn’t have much to say, but when he does take the time to talk, it’s worth listening to.

Liam excuses himself to go to the bathroom upstairs and Louis just takes another pull straight from the bottle of whiskey. Liam just needs a moment to cool off, to keep himself from ruining the evening by crying or saying the wrong thing or calling Louis out on his plan to run. When he’s nervous and when he’s keeping secrets is when he is the most vulnerable to say something completely stupid.

He is careful to flush the toilet and run some water over his hands and face in case anyone is listening for the sounds of water working through the pipes in the house. When he walks out of the bathroom, Zayn waits for him, leaned up against a wall underneath a portrait of Harry’s family that has to be at least a decade old. Liam knows he’s in trouble.

“There’s another bathroom upstairs,” Liam deflects somewhat rudely.

Zayn doesn’t make the dark face anyone else would make, he just keeps his sad, understanding eyes on Liam until he cracks. And Liam always cracks. Liam nods and Zayn walks outside, Liam trailing closely behind him. Zayn lights up a cigarette, offering one to Liam even though he knows Louis is the only one who says yes to Zayn regularly. Liam takes one anyway.

“Louis is going to dodge tomorrow,” Liam says and Zayn nods like he knows. Maybe he does. Liam lights the cigarette, a little more practiced than he should be. He’s had a few cigarettes over time, but it’s not something he’s ever been interested in picking up. It makes his head feel a little fuzzy, he thinks, or maybe it just does because he expects it to. Cigarette smoking affects him, like alcohol does, and he doesn’t like the idea of not being in complete control of himself.

“I’m not going with him,” Liam adds, exhaling the smoke and watching it curl in front of him before disappearing.

Zayn’s face falls then, from understanding to confusion to fear. “Does he know?”

“No.”

“Liam,” he says carefully.

“I know.” Liam scrubs his hand through his hair, a gesture meant to comfort himself. Which he will probably not be able to rely on in three weeks if it’s true that the army will shave his head.

“You know what that’s going to do to him,” Zayn says.

Liam cannot believe Zayn is taking Louis’ side in this. Sure, Zayn was Louis’ friend first, but Zayn always seems to find a way to support Liam quietly without Liam having to say anything about needing support. He’s the one Liam tells secrets to when he can’t tell Louis. He’s the one who doesn’t laugh at Liam when Louis says Liam’s being stupid. He’s supposed to be a rock.

“Do you know what it’s going to do to me?” Liam counters sharply because he knows this is probably what the rest of them are going to say too when they find out. How could you leave Louis? How could you betray his trust? But Liam needs people on his side.

Zayn blinks at him, his eyes wide, but he’s silent, like he can’t figure out what to say.

“I know what it’s going to do to Louis,” Liam says, “but at some point, I’m going to have to start thinking about what I want. About who I am. I’m an average student, average boxer, average son, average person. I want to be something great. I want to be something more than just Louis Tomlinson’s boyfriend. I want something for myself. I want to be asked what I want.”

Liam knows he must sound selfish, he must sound like a little kid rattling off all the things they want for Christmas. But he needs to be selfish and he needs to be damn sure about this. Zayn nods slowly, like he’s digesting each piece of information with careful consideration.

“Do you want to dodge?” he finally asks.

“No, I don’t,” Liam says, his breath shuddering at verbalizing for the first time what’s been on his mind for weeks.

“Then don’t dodge,” Zayn says and even though Liam doesn’t need permission, it’s nice to finally hear someone validate what he wants.

Liam presses his hands over his eyes to stem tears because he can’t be seen with a red face and not expect questions to be asked of him. He blinks back up at Zayn when he’s calmed a little. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

Zayn shakes his head, no offense taken. He pulls Liam into a hug he didn’t know he desperately needed and Liam hides his face in Zayn’s sweater to breathe in the familiar scent of stale cigarette smoke and his grown up aftershave.

“You’ve thought a lot about this.” It’s not a question, but an observation.

“I can’t run away,” Liam says into Zayn’s shoulder. “You know I wouldn’t leave him unless I was sure this is what I wanted to do. I just wish he would come with me.”

“He won’t.”

“I know.” He disentangles himself from Zayn and stubs out the cigarette he knows he’s not going to finish anyway. “Just. Don’t tell him. Please.”

“I would never,” Zayn tells his cigarette quietly, his long, dark eyelashes effectively shielding his eyes from view. Liam is glad for the lack of eye contact, because Zayn sounds a little offended.

“I’m sorry,” Liam says and Zayn just shakes his head.

“It’s all good,” he mumbles, which feels like Liam’s cue to leave.

He returns to the basement, shaking off the cold on his way down the stairs. As soon as he plops down on the floor, Louis practically throws himself onto Liam, digging cruel but playful fingers into his side. Liam snatches up both of Louis hands because affection is the best way to beat him at his own game. He uses them to pull Louis up closer, his back to Liam’s front, and circle his arms around his torso into what could be considered a cuddle or wrestling pin until Louis settles in, his head resting back against Liam’s shoulder.

“You smell like smoke,” Louis says, already looking a little glass-eyed from the whiskey, which seems to have been smartly recovered by Harry.

Liam pecks a kiss to the side of his head in response.

The night carries on like Liam expects it to, the boys getting drunker and drunker, singing along to Niall’s guitar, laughing until they risk peeing themselves, and regaling each other with nostalgia-inducing stories. It’s the perfect unintentional going away party and Liam is glad Louis gets this, what he wants and what he needs.

“We were fourteen,” Jack says. “And Louis gets it in his head that we are going to climb the water tower to try to throw pennies at cars on the highway. Athletes that we are, of course we think we’re going to actually be able to throw that far.”

Niall laughs his loud bark of derision and Louis flips him off, shuffling a little in Liam’s arms to make sure he’s seen.

“So Louis’ all big talk, you know how he is,” Jack continues with a conspiratorial grin, “but when we get to the water tower, I can’t get him up the ladder. He’s just standing on the ground looking up at them with this look of -- how can I describe it, abject terror? -- abject terror up at the rungs and how high up they go. ”

“I’m not scared of heights,” Louis snaps playfully.

“That’s exactly what you said, good of you to remember,” Jack laughs. “So anyway I basically push him up the ladder because he said we’re going to do it, and he’s like shaking the whole time, I’m scared he’s going to fall back and take me with him, but eventually we make it up to the top and realize... neither of us brought any pennies.”

“Worthless!” Niall cries.

“You said you were bringing the pennies!” Louis argues.

“The hell I did,” Jack says. “So Louis starts shouting, kind of like he is _now_ , and he says _well we came all the way up here we have to throw something_. So he takes off his shoes and chucks them both at the highway. They don’t make it anywhere close, they land in this muddy pit a grand total of four feet away. So Louis has to climb down barefoot because he fucking refuses to wear socks and he’s gotta go stomping through mud to get his shoes back because his mom would be angry if he lost them.”

“You didn’t help him?” Liam asks because Liam would have. Nobody knows what’s in the mud and it would have been dangerous to just wade into with no shoes.

“Fucking hell no I didn’t. I’m not going to ruin my shoes just because Louis ruined his,” Jack says like Liam is completely insane.

Jack doesn’t get it. He talks like moments like these are commonplace instead of special. Louis picked Jack, like Louis picked all of them, and Jack takes that for granted. Maybe that’s what he doesn’t like the most about Jack -- he doesn’t know how good he has it and he’s resentful when other people recognize it and take stock. Liam knows how special this all is. That’s why the guilt about leaving Louis is eating him up, because he’s about to throw it all away.

By midnight, Louis is so drunk he can hardly stand by himself. He hangs over Liam, not that Liam minds at all the proximity. Harry cracks open a bottle of champagne his parents bought them and pours each of them a fair amount into a set of glasses Harry’s family brought back from their trip to Disneyland last year because his parents don’t trust him with their nice stemware. They shout a countdown timed to the slow ticks of the second hand of the clock on Harry’s wall, regardless of it having the official time.

When Louis kisses Liam, it’s sloppy and drunken, and not in a fun way. He pries himself away from Liam and throws himself on each of his friends one at a time, forcing kisses onto their faces and being slapped away when he’s lingered too long. Niall starts up a rousing rendition of _Auld Lang Syne_ , which none of them really know the words to and none of them really care.

“What does it mean?” Louis asks when they’ve determined the song is over.

“Days gone by,” Harry answers promptly because of course he’s looked it up. “Something like that.”

Liam likes that, the new year starting with acknowledgment at the very least of what has transpired, so everyone can move on to better things. That what’s happened last year doesn’t have to inform his this year. It’s been a hard year for him, and 1970 brings new promise and new hardship. Liam is scared like he always is at the prospect of a new beginning, but he is more than willing to embrace it.

“To days gone by,” Liam toasts, everyone raising their glasses. “And days to come.”

Liam manages to drag Louis from Harry’s house shortly before one, begging that they’ll need plenty of sleep for their big day tomorrow. Louis comes reluctantly, but he’s drunk and pliable enough that he’s not asking too many questions. He casts fond looks at his boys, clapping them on their cheeks or shoulders and giving them hugs and kisses and pretty much giving the game away.

Zayn holds Liam a little longer than he normally does and whispers encouragements in his ear that threatens to put tears in Liam’s eyes. Liam nods to accept them and carefully guides Louis up the stairs and into the truck.

“Such a good night,” Louis slurs, his eyes closed and his lips moved into a soft smile.

“It was kind of perfect,” Liam confirms.

“I’ll miss them,” Louis says, drifting towards sleep because he’s all too often a sleepy drunk.

“You don’t have to,” Liam says softly, but it falls on deaf ears.

Liam pulls a snoozing Louis from the passenger seat once they arrive at Louis’ house and he carries him carefully up to his room, only jostling him a little at the front door, which proved a terrifying obstacle Liam didn’t anticipate. Louis is a little awake when Liam kneels down beside his bed to pull Louis’ sweater, shoes, and jeans off. Louis giggles a little and flutters his eyelashes in a manner that he probably thinks is seductive but looks ridiculous.

“Not tonight,” Liam says, even though this is their last chance and he knows he’ll regret not taking it. But he can’t do this when Louis is drunk.

“Just a short nap and then we can make out a little, okay?” Louis mumbles.

“Sure,” Liam says, pulling Louis’ blankets snug around him.

Louis, through all his tiredness, clutches fiercely tight at Liam’s wrist. “You going?”

“No,” Liam promises even though he shouldn’t. Louis tugs at him a little so he leans forward to kiss Louis, tasting the freshness of the champagne and the sweetness of the whiskey in his mouth. Louis kisses lazily but still thoroughly and Liam has to admire his dedication. Louis pulls away with a small smile and a pat to Liam’s cheek before rolling his own face into his pillow.

“Nap, and then I’ll have you,” Louis tells his pillow.

“You already have me,” Liam says even though he shouldn’t. That’s one of those lines that would have Louis squawking and swatting at Liam, calling him a terrible old sap, but Liam can’t help that he is a terrible old sap.

He waits until Louis is snoring lightly before he leaves. He spends too much time soaking up the peaceful image of Louis sleeping in his home for the last time, the traces of a smile still turning up his lips, looking more peaceful than he probably ever has awake.

He doesn’t allow himself to cry as he drives home because this is his decision and nobody else is responsible for it. He lets Louis sleep, dreaming what he hopes is good dreams, waking up to think that Liam is still going to meet him in Forrester at 8.45 am sharp. Liam doesn’t even know how Louis is going to get there -- taxi, he thinks-- but he’s glad, and frankly astounded, he was able to convince Louis that they shouldn’t make the plans to arrive together. It’ll be easier this way. Easier for Liam, that is.

Liam doesn’t sleep at all. He sits in bed and stares at his ceiling until his mom collects him for breakfast. He doesn’t eat anything anyway, claiming he doesn’t feel well. It’s not exactly a lie. Nine comes and goes and ten comes and goes and Liam sits numbly, alone in his living room, right by the telephone because he knows what’s going to happen today and ignoring it isn’t going to make it go away.

The first phone call comes around eleven.

“Hello, Payne residence,” Liam says as carefully as he can.

“Liam?” It’s Louis’ mom. _Shit_. Liam’s heart jumps up and lodges itself in his throat and he can’t breathe and he doesn’t know how to lie to Jay. He doesn’t. But he has to.

“Hi, Jay,” he chokes out as normally as possible, which isn’t very normal at all.

“Hey, love, is Louis over there?” she asks because as far as Liam knows, she doesn’t know about his parents and how they feel about Louis. If she did, she would probably find some way to raise hell. Like mother, like son.

He could tell her and ruin this whole thing. There’s still a possibility Louis is at the bus terminal waiting for him, and she could drive there and collect him and bring him back and keep him from leaving and breaking the law. He could do that.

“Um. No. He’s not here.”

She hums. “I haven’t seen him all morning. It’s just not like him to leave the house without saying anything.”

“He’s not in his room?” Liam asks. He’s not in his room, he’s at a bus terminal, but the note he left for Jay is in his room.

“No,” she says. “I peeked in about an hour ago. Maybe he’s at Harry’s.”

“Yeah,” Liam says for reasons of plausible deniability. “Maybe Harry’s.”

“I’ll try him next. We’ll see you on Sunday?”

“Yeah,” Liam repeats. “Happy New Year, Jay.”

She pauses like she’s going to say something different than what she does, but thinks better of it. “Happy New Year, love,” she says and hangs up.

Liam drops the handset back into the cradle like its presence is burning his hands. He feels disgusting for having lied to Jay, who he loves dearly. But he can’t be Louis’ fall guy, he can’t take the bullet for Louis because Louis couldn’t do it himself. He tries so hard not to think of Louis as a coward. He just doesn’t succeed.

Louis talks a big game about politics and war, but he’s scared. Liam knows him too well. He sees Louis looking at a big unfamiliar experience that he has no way of controlling and he sees Louis running away from it out of fear. Liam knows this because that’s what Liam always does. Except this time, he can’t. Louis has taught him too well, shown him by shining example, how to do exactly what he wants even if it scares the shit out of him.

Two hours later, Liam gets the second phone call he’s dreading and he knows he has to answer it. If only to say goodbye. Even though he’s sitting right next to the phone, he lets it ring six times before he can finally reach a shaking hand over to pick up the handset.

“Hello,” Liam says. “Payne residence.”

Louis inhales sharply on the other end. “I fucking knew it,” he whispers.

“I can explain,” Liam begins lamely.

“Yeah? Let’s hear it. I bet it’s quite the tale,” Louis snaps, his voice finding its strength with anger, and Liam flinches. But Liam also finds his resolve.

“I don’t want to dodge, I’m going to fight.”

Liam can hear the phone jostle a little before Louis is back. “This is your parents, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s me,” Liam says as firmly as he can muster. Because it’s true. “I chose this.”

“You can’t let them do this to you -- your fucking father -- you don’t get it, Liam, you --” Louis cuts himself off with a frustrated noise. “I’m such an idiot. You were always going to pick them, you always pick them.”

“I don’t pick them,” Liam says, because he doesn’t really, he always chooses Louis because Louis chose him. “It’s not about picking sides, this is what I want.”

“You don’t have any fucking clue what you want, _Liam_.” Louis says, grinding Liam’s name with condescension. “You’re just doing what they tell you to do because it’s easier that way.”

Liam doesn’t see how that’s any different from his relationship with Louis. Actually. “How is that any different than you? You’re always just telling me what to do, except this time you’re just mad I don’t want to do it.”

“Excuse me?” Louis says, his voice getting that dangerous quiet.

“You’re not _listening_ to me--” Liam starts and true to his accusation, Louis just talks over him.

“Don’t go,” Louis says urgently. “I’ll wait here for you, just come with me.” His voice breaks next and Liam almost can’t handle the pressure. “I’m begging you, Liam. Run away with me.”

Liam would have. If it was a year ago, he would have run anywhere with Louis. Because Liam’s life didn’t have direction or purpose. But he knows what he wants now and he’s not going to run from it.

“No,” Liam says. “I love you, but I won’t.” He wants to hear it back, he wants Louis to tell him that he loves him no matter what, that this won’t break them, that even if Louis leaves, he’ll find a way to be waiting for Liam when he comes home. But Louis doesn’t say it.

“If you go over there, if you go off into your fucking hero mode, doing whatever you think is necessary just to please other people, and you get yourself killed,” Louis says, but doesn’t resolve the threat.

“What?” Liam asks, but Louis doesn’t answer. He almost wants to hear the words fall from Louis’ lips, _if you die, I won’t mourn you_. _If you die, I won’t care_.

“You always think so little of me,” Liam tells him when he says nothing.

“You keep giving me reasons to.”

“No, I don’t,” Liam says and even waits for the _no, you don’t_ he knows won’t come anyway.

They sit in silence for a torturous minute, letting one hundred unsaid things pass between them. Liam doesn’t want to leave it like this, but he can’t figure out how to make it better without giving Louis what he wants.

Louis says nothing and Liam just flounders, wanting to fill the silence with anything, even if at the risk of sounding desperate and pathetic. “Will you write to me?”

“I don’t see the point. There’s nothing else I want to say to you.”

That hurts like a sucker punch to the gut, but Liam knows he has to keep his hands up, protect himself, keep fighting. Even if it means fighting dirty. “What about the girls?”

“How fucking dare you,” Louis growls.

“How can you leave them?” Liam presses, because if he’s not enough for Louis, his family has to be enough.

“I’ll leave them either way, but this way I’m not going to come back to them in a fucking box with a flag draped over.”

“Lou, no,” Liam pleads. “If you dodge, you might not get to come back. You can’t come back to me when this is all over.”

“Good.”

Then there’s just a click and a dial tone. Liam calls for him anyway desperately, doesn’t want them to end like this.

He can’t call Louis back and beg for forgiveness. Louis could be gone by the time he drives to Forrester. He can’t fight instinct: he makes Louis upset, he does whatever he can to make it better, no matter the cost.

He feels the handset being pulled from his hand where it’s still cradled up by his face. He looks up to his mom as she hangs up for him. She doesn’t look concerned, she looks… victorious. She’s heard the whole thing, probably, Liam hasn’t made any efforts to be quiet. And she thinks she’s won, she’s beaten Louis. The thought makes him sick.

So he runs. He goes for the door, forgoes his jacket, forgoes his keys, and just runs, cutting through his neighborhood still full of Christmas lights and cheer. He doesn’t think about where to run, he just runs.

Liam is fucking terrified, though, he doesn’t _really_ want to go. He doesn’t want to die. The news doesn’t make it look glamorous, it makes it look like hell. He’s seen a little bit of the protests and he understands what they’re trying to say. Nobody knows what they’re fighting for. That’s fair enough. Liam doesn’t know what he’s fighting for either.

But in the army, he gets a purpose and a future. He still feels like he’d be working toward a goal, not like sitting in one of his dad’s factories every day with his eyes practically glued to the clock. He has to do something, he has to go somewhere, he has to be someone. He’s wasting his potential and it’s actually killing him.

He’s always got this fire within him to be better than he is, to change the world or something ridiculous like that. He’s spent years telling himself he can’t do it or that he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t tell anyone these things because he knows they would just agree, tell him he’s dreaming too big, that his head’s stuck in the clouds.

Liam wants to be the best at something. He wants to do what he’s told and then exceed expectations. He wants to be impressive.

Louis doesn’t get that or Louis won’t let him explain that. It makes Liam so _angry_. He’s supportive, sure, when Liam wants to do what Louis wants him to. When Liam excels at following Louis’ direction, Liam feels like the most important person in the world. But the second Liam wants to choose for himself and that choice goes against what Louis wants, Louis cuts him out, quickly, easily. Like the last two years have meant so little, like Louis never really needed him.

That’s not fair. It’s not fucking _fair_ and Liam hates it.

He stops in his tracks in the middle of the road, which is dangerous but he doesn’t care.

Louis cut him out so quickly. _Good_ , he says. He doesn’t want Liam. Maybe he’s never wanted Liam, maybe he just liked the attention. He liked having someone who would make Louis their whole world, would do as he says, would love him unconditionally no matter the cost. But the second Liam wants something for himself beyond Louis, Louis is done with him, content to never see him or speak to him again.

Liam feels so used, the revelation smacks into him harder than he could have anticipated. He crumbles onto the road, falling into himself and clutching desperately at himself and sobbing hard enough his chest aches.

 _Good_.

Liam is such a fucking idiot, god, he fell so hard. Louis didn’t even need to mourn the death of their relationship, so he couldn’t have cared for him.

A car honks behind him, screeching to a stop. Liam looks up at the grill and then at the driver swearing and waving his hands at him. Liam throws a weak wave to the driver before slowly clambering to his feet.

He begins the slow walk back to his house and resolves himself to feel nothing. That’s what he has to do so he doesn’t break. He’s going to leave his town and his life and his friends and his family and he’s going to forget about as much of it as he can. He’s going to forget about Louis because Louis wants to forget about him.

He should have been preparing for this. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he always knew it was going to end this way.

\--


	11. December 21, 1976

_(Baba O'Riley - The Who, Do You Love Me - The Contours)_

* * *

_December 21, 1976_

Louis has a six pack and a plate of cookies in his hands when his mom and Dan drop him off at Harry and Niall’s apartment. He’s not sure what’s more embarrassing -- hitching a ride with the two of them on the way to their date because his mom refused to leave Lottie babysitting without a car or the fact that he’s bringing his mom’s home baked cookies to a boys’ night.

He and the girls had spent the afternoon cutting the dough into snowmen and Christmas trees and angels for decorating with frosting and sprinkles. Louis had noticed the less pretty ones (the ones he had decorated) were on the plate for his boys.

“Bring these to the boys,” she had said, pressing a cling wrap covered plate of sugar cookies into his hands.

“I can’t bring cookies to a guys’ night,” Louis had moaned.

“Nonsense, everybody loves cookies,” his mom had said dismissively.

“It’s not going to decrease your testosterone levels if you eat cookies with a bunch of men,” Lottie had mocked.

He had flipped Lottie off and his mom had smacked him in the head, and next thing he knew, he was bringing a plate of homemade, poorly decorated Christmas cookies to his boys’ night.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to pick you up later?” his mom asks after cranking her window down.

“I’m fine. Zayn will give me a lift,” Louis says, not even sure if Zayn’s going to be there. Also he’s not a kid, he doesn’t need rides from his mom. “Be safe, kids, home at a reasonable hour.” He ducks down to kiss his mom’s cheek and give a wave to Dan.

He vaguely remembers which apartment belongs to Niall and Harry from his hungover escape the other day. He thinks it’s number four, but when he knocks and doesn’t receive an answer for a while, he begins to worry. He looks up, there’s the jagged crack in the paint on the ceiling he remembers. His head whips down when the door opens.

“Oh,” Liam says, his face falling. Great, nobody told Liam he was coming. Louis’ presence feels like a ploy, now, part of that argument Harry and Niall had back at Horan’s a few days ago. He’s not in the mood to be Parent Trapped into patching things up with Liam.

Louis sours at the thought. “Excuse me,” he says, pushing his way inside, his shoulder roughly brushing Liam’s.

“Hey hey, Tommo!” crows Niall as soon as Louis walks into the living room. He throws his hands up, some of his pint sloshing over onto the carpet. He doesn’t appear bothered by that. Harry and Zayn turn around almost in sync from where they’re seated on the couch. Harry smiles brightly, waggling his fingers in a hello. Zayn smiles too, but his eyes soon shift from Louis to behind him, probably to where Liam is lagging by the door.

“Fashionably late,” Louis says. “Can’t believe Zayn got here before me.”

“Zayn has a curfew,” Harry says, his smile turning into a shit-eating grin.

“It’s not a curfew,” Zayn says, turning an unimpressed look to Harry.

“The phone rang twenty minutes ago,” Harry says, looking pretty pleased with himself, “and he almost peed himself and then he ran into a table trying to get to it.”

“I’m having a baby this week,” Zayn answers, bland as ever. He refuses to rise to the bait. Louis is impressed.

Liam appears suddenly, shuffling around Louis to perch himself in the ugly plaid recliner by the couch. He doesn’t look at anyone as he picks at the label on his bottle of beer.

“Are those cookies?” Harry asks.

“Fuck yes,” Niall says, holding his hands out expectantly. Louis isn’t surprised his mom was right.  Louis raises his six pack with a questioning look as he hands the plate of cookies to Niall.

“In the kitchen with the rest,” Niall says, unwrapping the cookies with a greedy grin.

Louis is surprised to see half of the stock of Horan’s is laid out on the kitchen table and Louis’ six pack looks pathetic next to the spread. He probably should have anticipated the bartender would have plenty of supplies. He tosses the six pack onto the counter and pours himself a couple of fingers of whiskey from the open bottle of Jack Daniels on the table.

When he gets back in the living room, Niall is breaking off pieces of cookie and throwing them across the room, possibly at Harry’s open mouth, but the cookies aren’t even approaching Harry’s face. They bounce onto the coffee table or the floor or way over his head and nobody makes any moves to clean them up, not even Liam.

“Twins decorate these?” Niall asks.

“Yep,” Louis says as he forces himself in between Zayn and Harry on the couch instead of sitting on the cushion they clearly left open for him. Zayn shoves him a little but shifts to the side, and Harry makes no room at all for him. Business as usual and Louis is pleased.

“Very nice,” Niall says in that tone that people use when they say complimentary things about children’s terrible art. “We’re about to play Ten Fingers. Everybody all liquored up except Zayn who is a fucking wimp and has to stay sober in case his child is born tonight.”

Zayn flips him off and Niall cackles delightedly.

They never actually play Ten Fingers correctly, choosing instead to take drinks instead of lowering their fingers when they lose a turn. And they don’t stop when someone reaches ten either, they just keep going until someone is too drunk to go on. They probably shouldn’t call it Ten Fingers, but nobody really cares that much.

Louis should probably grab himself a little more to drink, as he’s always been notoriously bad at this game, which means he’s excellent at life. His boys always play ruthlessly, targeting weak individuals instead of aiming for the group as a whole.

“I’ve never been arrested,” Zayn says, unprompted, looking pointedly at Niall.

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall says with a big grin and salutes Zayn with his bottle before taking a long pull.

Louis takes a small sip as well, hoping the action goes unnoticed. He’s not actually sure if he was properly arrested, considering there’s no record of it. Liam is watching, though, and he could call him out on the lie. Louis feels Harry reach down to squeeze his knee and give it a small pat. Louis nudges into his shoulder in return. Harry always has his back and Louis feels a flood of appreciation.

“Tommo, when were you arrested?” Niall asks.

“When were you arrested?” Louis deflects, his face heating up. He should just tell them all and be done with it. They’d fall in his side instead of Liam’s, wouldn’t they? Liam swore on Sunday he hadn’t done anything to jeopardize Louis’ reputation with them, though, and Louis finds himself unable to say anything to this part of his family either.

“Coupla years ago. Kicked a guy in the balls for talking shit at my bar,” Niall supplies promptly. “What did those charges end up being?”

“Disturbing the peace,” Liam answers. The effect of his censure is weakened by the fact that he’s smiling. “You’re lucky it wasn’t assault. He was pushing for it.”

Niall makes a dismissive noise, waving his hand. “I may be cock-level now but I don’t get a lot of traction in this chair. He was fine, barely a graze.”

“Probably the closest anyone had gotten to touching his dick in years, he should thank you,” Louis says, prompting a burst of laughter from Harry, who claps his hand over his mouth to stifle it. He surveys the rest of them for their responses -- Zayn smiles at Louis and Liam smiles at Niall. Good, Louis thinks. Like old times. Sort of.

“I’ll drink to that,” Niall says, knocking back another drink. That kind of defeats the purpose of the game, but no one cares to point that out. “Hmm,” he says, surveying the room and seeming to forget about asking Louis to tell his own story. “I’ve never smoked a cigarette.”

He gets all of them with that one and he looks far too smug.

“I’ve never said I love you first,” Liam says next, with all the emotion of something boring like _I’ve never touched my toes_. He looks directly at Louis as he takes a drink. Louis holds his stare as best as he can around his glass. He doesn’t know what that means for Liam, what he’s trying to tell Louis.

Zayn takes a drink too, which Louis understands, but Harry follows him, which he didn’t know. He’s never known Harry to be in love except in that way he’s half in love with everyone he meets. He’s allowed to call for an explanation, but if Harry shared, then Louis would have to. Not that Louis’ embarrassed by how it happened, but he doesn’t want to reminisce about what they had.

Louis would have to tell them it happened the morning after their first time, when Liam woke Louis with a cup of tea. Louis had mumbled a joke “I love you,” as he curled his fingers around the mug and sipped greedily. Liam had frozen still from where he had perched on the edge of Louis’ bed, his mouth open but nothing came out. Louis had thought about clarifying himself, but he found he stood by the statement. It was only three weeks into their relationship, but it’d been months since Louis had fallen in love with Liam sitting next to him at a piano on his birthday.

“I love you,” Louis had repeated and only then had Liam cracked a smile, working out a small, “I love you too” of his own. Louis had pulled him down and kissed him until they were ready for round two, quiet and heated before Jay called them down for breakfast.

Louis can’t shake out of his fixed glare, searching Liam’s face for hints of what he’s going to do or what he’s going to say. Louis plans to behave. He won’t ruin this night for them, what feels like a reunion party in disguise. Liam managed to spend all of Sunday night at Louis’ without arresting him. No reason to break the streak now.

Louis finally pulls his focus away from Liam when Niall breaks the silence.

“Love is for suckers,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His fingers pull at his left pant leg absently.

“I’ve never been to Canada,” Harry says quickly, before turning a smirk on Louis. Louis laughs dryly as he takes a sip, but he’s surprised when Liam takes one too.

What was he doing in Canada? Was he looking for Louis? Had he changed his mind about dodging for a split second? Louis feels possessive of the country for a moment, like it’s the only thing in his life that Liam doesn’t have his hands in. It’s the only thing Louis has left that’s just _his_.

It’s Louis’ turn. “I’ve never killed a man,” sits on Louis’ lips but goes unsaid. Cutting Liam down isn’t worth cutting Niall down at the same time. And Louis isn’t cruel. At least, he’s not cruel anywhere but inside the safety of his own unexpressed thoughts.

“I’ve never been on an airplane,” is what he ends up contributing, getting all of them but Zayn. Zayn and Louis clink their glasses together in celebration. The smile on Louis’ face feels less than genuine, despite his best efforts. “It’s not fair that you’re staying sober, Malik. I have so much dirt on you.”

“Dirt like I’ve never peed myself and thrown up on myself at the same time?” Zayn says politely. The bastard. Niall and Harry collapse into laughter.

“You’re a son of a bitch,” Louis says as he’s the only person in the room who drinks. He gives a tug on Harry’s necklace -- or is it a bandana? -- in retribution for laughing and Harry jerks forward, the surprise stunting his laughter. He leaves Niall be because he’s too far to reach. His vengeance can only be curtailed by his laziness. “I told you that in strictest confidence.”

“I was there,” Liam mumbles. Louis’ eyes snap to him. He was there, the one cleaning up after Louis because Louis was too drunk to even stand. Liam who wiped Louis’ chin and stripped his soiled pants and stayed up half the night just to make sure Louis didn’t vomit again.

Liam is poking at him again, getting personal. Like he’s saying _you can’t shut me out._ _You can’t forget I was part of your life._

“Strictest confidence and also Liam knew,” Louis amends. Liam is part of his past, but Louis isn’t sure he wants him as part of his future.

“Whoopsie daisy,” Zayn says, not looking sorry in the least.

“I’ve never sucked a dick,” Niall says, prompting Louis and Liam to drink and also, in a stunning twist, Harry as well.

Happy for the distraction, Louis rounds on him immediately, wide-eyed and slapping at him until Harry starts slapping back.

“How dare you keep this from me. How dare you,” Louis shrieks, adding a nipple twist to the mix because Harry’s nipples are _right there_ , practically begging for it now that Harry has apparently ceased buttoning his shirts all the way. “That should have been the first thing you said to me. _Hey, Tommo, glad you’re home, by the way, sucked a guy’s dick_.”

“A gentleman never tells,” Harry says, his smile too near delighted to pass for coy.

The game devolves from there, slowly but surely descending into sharing secrets with each other, each turn getting progressively more disgusting for everyone except Liam, who continues to blandly admit to things like never eating swiss cheese and never sleeping for more than eight hours at a time. They play until it’s boring and then some, conversation faltering as ideas dry up.

Niall goes to the kitchen to retrieve snacks and Louis follows him when no one gets up to help him. It’s not like Niall has an extra hand and it’s not like any of them are doing anything so special they can’t help out.

“Which one do you want?” Louis asks. He watches Niall peer up at the counter by the fridge that’s covered with trays of food.

“I’m taking whatever these sausage things are,” Niall asks, eyeing little balls of sausage that look like they have cheese baked into them.

“I got it,” Louis says as he picks up the tray.

“Nah, give it here,” Niall says, holding his hand out.

“We’re good. I don’t mind.” He tries to sound as stress-free as he can manage. No need for Niall to exert himself when Louis has two perfectly good hands to use.

“Tommo, I’ve got it,” Niall insists.

“I’ll carry it for you.”

“Fuck’s sake, Louis, I’m not useless,” Niall snaps and Louis recoils instantly, his heart pounding. Niall’s face is pinched with irritation, nearly going red. He’s only seen Niall red with laughter and red with drink, but never red with anger.

“I’m sorry,” he replies, unable to put much strength behind his voice. He tries not to flush with embarrassment, but he knows he’s not succeeding.

“We fucking talked about this and you’re doing it anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis repeats dumbly. He hands the tray to Niall, his hands trying not to shake all of the sausage balls onto the floor.

“It’s fine,” Niall says quickly, setting the tray on his lap. He pushes himself from Louis swiftly, leaving Louis alone and feeling like an asshole.

Niall isn’t useless, but Louis feels it.

“He used to fall a lot,” Harry says, suddenly appearing behind him.

Louis jerks a little in surprise but tries to school his features quickly. “What?”

“Niall, when he first got home,” Harry continues with a nod at Niall. “He’d be sitting on the couch and then he’d get up to get a beer from the fridge and he’d forget. Broke a good number of coffee tables. Broke his nose once. I wasn’t always home to help him back up and sometimes he’d just lie there for hours until I got back and then pretend he had just fallen asleep. He’s better about it now, obviously. But he has his bad days.”

Louis shudders out a breath, watching as Niall keels over with laughter at something Liam says. Niall looks like he’s gotten over it so quickly, but Louis’ stomach still tumbles with guilt.

“I had no idea,” Louis whispers. Niall had talked about not wanting to be apologized to, not wanting to be treated differently. He assumed this was because Niall wasn’t different.

“Because he doesn’t want anyone to know. He just wants everyone to think he’s okay so he’s not anyone’s problem.”

Louis knows something about that. He doesn’t like being taken care of, he likes being the one to take care of others. He doesn’t like feeling useless. They sort of talked about this at the football field, but only in the context of Louis’ behavior. Louis realizes Niall never said anything about how he feels about the way people treat him.

Louis had thought Niall told him everything growing up, but he doesn’t remember Niall having a lot of problems. He’d always thought of Niall as an easy going guy, things just rolled off of him as long as he was cackling about them. But for Niall to hold something as big as this in, Louis wonders if Niall ever really told him anything.  Louis can’t ask Niall about it without risking offending him in some way.

“You sound like you know everything.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything either. But I’ve always been very perceptive,” Harry says seriously, but when he looks down at Louis, his eyes are lit. Louis snorts at him and Harry breaks, cracking a smile. “I’m serious. It’s a gift.”

Louis shoves him and Harry stumbles to the side, clutching the wall so he doesn’t fall over. Harry ambles back over to Niall, plucking a sausage ball from the tray and popping it into his mouth. He listens very intently to whatever Niall is saying with a hand around his shoulder and half of his body leaned casually on the wheelchair’s right armrest.

Zayn slides into the kitchen next, plucking the phone off the cradle. Louis raises his eyebrows at him.

“I’m having a baby this week,” Zayn says, a little defensive.

“I didn’t say anything.” Louis throws up his hands in submission, his eyes sliding back to Niall and Harry. He can’t help the tinge of jealousy he feels watching them click seamlessly with each other. Louis used to click with them. He used to lock them all into place, the others forming pieces of a puzzle together around him to create the big picture of Louis’ family. Louis feels like some of his edges have changed; he doesn’t fit where he used to.

“When did they become a unit? Every time I look at them, I think _HarryandNiall,_ not Harry and Niall.”

Zayn considers this, like maybe he hadn’t noticed the two of them are practically codependent now. Maybe they shifted together so gradually that Zayn doesn’t even realize anything is different. It’s not jarring for him because he’s lived through it.

“For a while there, they were all they had,” Zayn says, dialing his phone number. “You were gone and I was starting a family and Liam was off at war and Jack… All they had was each other.” His voice turns soft as he murmurs his hello into the handset.

Louis gives him the privacy he needs, so Zayn can be his own unit with Perrie. He’s stuck between two units and the only thing he has to latch onto is Liam. He doesn’t want to latch onto Liam. He wants all five of them to be the unit they once were, even if they are missing a piece.

Harry disappears into one of the bedrooms as Louis settles back onto the abandoned couch.

“Think fast,” Niall says, pelting Louis’ face with a single sausage ball. The sausage rolls down Louis’ arm and settles onto the couch. Louis eats it anyway and Niall nods with approval. Somehow it feels like an apology was given and accepted.

Harry reappears with Niall’s guitar, passing it to him. It’s drunken sing-along time, another old standby of the boys’ night -- Louis’ favorite, if he’s honest.

“Taking requests, gentlemen,” Niall says, settling his guitar in his lap and beginning to check the strings.

“I’m Looking Through You,” Liam says immediately.

Niall stills as he twists a tuning peg. He slides his eyes to look at Louis, like he’s asking for permission. Louis shrugs at him. It’s the song from the day Liam and Louis first met. It’s when Louis added another member to his family. But it’s just the Beatles. It’s fine.

“Love that song,” Harry says, oblivious to what it means.

“Okay,” Niall says, checking each of his strings before jumping to the opening chords of the song, strumming jauntily. It’s been years since Louis’ heard the song, and just before Niall starts singing, Louis remembers what it’s about. And he understands the look from Niall.

“ _I’m looking through you, where did you go?_ ” Niall starts and Harry joins in happily on the next line. “ _I thought I knew you, what did I know?_ ”

Louis would probably pick up here, throw his voice into the mix, though not as confidently as Harry and Niall would, but he’s stopped by the lyrics.

“ _You don’t look different, but you have changed_ ,” they sing. “ _I’m looking through you, you’re not the same._ ”

Niall starts looking stressed, but he can’t cut the song off without admitting to the tension in the room. Louis glowers pretty openly at Liam, so he’s not exactly being subtle. Liam doesn’t even give him the courtesy of eye contact for more than a few seconds when his eyes peek up to see if Louis still scowls.

“ _You’re thinking of me, the same old way. You were above me, but not today. The only difference is you’re down there.”_

Louis wants to shout at him that he gets it. Liam thinks he’s better than Louis. Liam thinks that because he went to war, he’s not a coward like Louis is. Or Liam has just been trying to hit the same point home all night. _I used to be yours, but now I’m not. You’re thinking of me, the same old way_. Louis can assure Liam he isn’t. He knows Liam is different and he doesn’t want a part of that.

“ _I’m looking through you, and you’re nowhere._ ”

Niall strums out the end of the song, Harry swaying easily in tempo and being the only one to clap when Niall finishes.

“Can I get anyone a drink?” Louis says, his voice clipped. He rises, not waiting for an answer before he walks into the kitchen.

Zayn takes one look at Louis and turns back to the phone he has cradled to his ear and says, “I gotta go, babe, I love you.” He waits for a response and hangs up. “You doing okay?”

“Nope,” Louis says shortly because there’s no use in lying. Zayn knows he’s fucking pissed.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“Is it Liam?” Zayn asks anyway.

“It’s always fucking Liam,” Louis says, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice.

Louis hops onto the counter next to where he’s put the untouched six pack of beer. He pulls the pack of cigarettes from where it’s tucked into the box and fishes the lighter from his pocket. Louis twirls the cigarette between his fingers just to give himself something to focus on so he’ll calm down.

“Yeah, he’s in a mood today,” Zayn says, a diplomatic way of saying Liam’s being a fucking asshole. “I can talk to him.”

“Don’t,” Louis says. He’s perfectly capable of taking care of it on his own when he’s ready. The last thing he wants is for Liam to think Louis is too much of a coward to face him directly, so he has to send Zayn.

He notices Zayn casually watching the cigarette, his eyes shifting with every flick.

“You really quit because Perrie didn’t like it?” Louis asks.

He sees Zayn calculating his deflection, like he’s weighing both of his decisions in this instance. Louis hopes he picks _play along_ because _force Louis to talk about his feelings_ is not something he wants right now.

“Yeah, she said kissing me was like licking an ashtray,” he says with a short laugh. _Play along_ it is. “She kisses too good to give that up. Cigarettes were easier.”

Louis shakes his head at him. “You’re whipped.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, but he looks pleased.

Zayn changed a huge part of himself because someone he loved asked him to. He does it with a laugh and a shrug, like it was nothing. They’ve all changed and even the tiniest shifts away from who they were scares Louis. They feel like strangers, but they shouldn’t. Zayn not smoking a cigarette is a small change, an artificial one, but it was part of who he was.

When Louis spent years without his friends, clinging to the memories of who they were to comfort himself when he was lonely, those parts of who they are were all he had. They were only made up of small facts and fading memories. Niall had blond hair and Zayn smelled like cigarettes and Harry was of a normal height and Liam was in love with him. That’s who they were, but it’s not who they are now.

“I’ll go up to the roof,” Louis says, waving the cigarette and pushing off the counter onto his feet.

“You’re fine.” Zayn waves his hand like he’s not concerned about the possibility of watching Louis do something he can’t do anymore. Louis is sure Harry and Niall won’t mind if he smokes in their home either, but Louis is just looking for an excuse to escape before he starts to feel suffocated. Or before he does something stupid to Liam.

Louis ignores Zayn’s calling of his name and leaves the apartment. He clambers up the small, steep staircase four floors before throwing his entire weight onto the door that resists opening up to the roof. It’s cold as shit on the roof, but Louis will take this break any way he can. He focuses on the repetitive action of pulling smoke in and out of his lungs, slowly releasing the smoke to curl in front of him before disappearing in the night.

Louis wonders what would happen if _he_ disappeared into the night.

The door bangs open behind him and Louis stifles an eye roll once he realizes it’s Liam, looking warily at Louis like he wasn’t the one who came up here uninvited. He stands next to Louis -- not too close -- and says nothing, crossing his arms, possibly to try to keep some of his body heat because he is idiotically not wearing a jacket.

“Where’s your jacket?” Louis sighs, stubbing out what’s left of his cigarette. “Or is it your intention to turn into an icicle?”

“I’m fine,” Liam says.

“I’m not giving you mine,” Louis says. He’s a gentleman, but not _that_ much of a gentleman. He’s not even sure why he cares.

“I’m fine,” Liam repeats, but this one has an edge on it that says he’s finished.

Louis narrows eyes and presses his lips together with irritation. If he wants to freeze, he can freeze for all Louis fucking cares. “What do you want?”

“You’re upset,” Liam says, blinking slowly.

Louis immediately makes a face at him. “I’m not upset,” he says. He is upset, but he doesn’t like being called on it. Liam’s the fucking reason he’s upset, anyway, and watching him sit there and pretend like he doesn’t know anger surges through Louis’ blood.

“Yes, you are,” Liam says patiently, almost condescendingly. “When you’re angry you like to make it everybody’s problem, but when you’re really upset you just want to be alone.”

“Then leave me alone,” Louis says, turning away. If Liam has him all figured out, then Liam knows what he needs and Liam should respect that. But wait. If Liam leaves him alone, then Liam is off the hook. Liam doesn’t have to answer for himself. He’s upset _and_ angry and he sure as shit is going to make it Liam’s problem.

“Actually. What the fuck is your problem with me?”

“My problem with _you_ ,” Liam says with a huff of disbelieving laughter.

Louis watches him shake his head with his jaw locked, taking measured breaths like he’s preparing himself to handle Louis. Louis will be damned if he’s going to let Liam handle him. Louis doesn’t want to talk in circles around the issue anymore or tap his toe on the line but always jump back because he’s too scared to cross it.

“ _You_ lied to me,” Louis says. “ _You_ left me at the bus station. _You_ fucking ruined everything. So, yes, what the fuck is your problem with me?”

“You left me,” Liam snaps, finding a heat Louis has never seen in him before. He fights the urge to step back from Liam, to distance himself from the flare of Liam’s temper. “You left the country. You left me alone.”

“You were supposed to come with me,” Louis comes back with just as much heat. Did he fucking miss the invitation? Louis had their lives together planned, as much as he could when he didn’t know what was in store for them in Canada. Louis knows for sure now, life was hard, but it would have been easier with Liam. “But you didn’t.”

“There was never any real choice,” Liam says. “I wasn’t going to do anything illegal.”

On some level, Louis gets that. He spent months living in fear of being caught and dragged back to the States, forced on the front lines without any training to die as punishment for desertion. But when it came to the decision between breaking a stupid law and willfully murdering people in war...

“I didn’t really have a choice either, Liam, I wasn’t about to go to war,” Louis snaps. Look what that’s done to Liam and Niall. It ate them all up, from the inside out, and Louis knows he’ll never know the depth of the damage. He’s not sorry he missed out on doing that to himself, not even for a second. Louis could have ended up like Jack, shot or blown to pieces. Louis doesn’t even know if they got his body back or if it’s still in Vietnam somewhere.

Everything Louis feared would happen because of the war stares him in the face. “You saw the same shit I did,” Louis adds, “you knew I couldn’t be a part of that.”

“I did what I was supposed to do,” Liam says.

“Is that what they were telling you?” Louis says sharply. “That you were brave? That you were doing the right thing? The noble thing? Because you weren’t. You were a puppet, Liam. Something bigger than you and crueler than you was pulling the strings. Your life meant nothing to them.”

“Stop,” Liam says and in a flash, he’s in Louis’ space, making Louis keenly aware of how small he feels next to Liam. Louis almost flinches, worried Liam is going to do something, but Liam looks closer to sad than he does angry. His voice drops low. “I know. I know that now.”

Louis blinks at him. That’s the closest Liam has gotten to admitting Louis was right. Louis almost breathes a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding in. Liam isn’t too far gone.

“I told you,” Louis says, feeling the pity creep up into his voice to replace the anger, “if you had just listened to me. You didn’t have to go through that.”

“I wanted to go. I had to go. It felt right for me. I wanted it,” Liam says. His eyes flick away to rest on the ledge and he appears to be nodding to himself. “It’s what I wanted.”

Louis can’t stop the face he makes at Liam. It doesn’t matter what he _wanted_ , what he wanted was the wrong thing. And he never could have wanted to go, it was his dad that wanted it, it was what the government wanted. It was pressure from society to not look like a coward, because Liam gets it in his brain sometimes that being a coward is the worst thing he could be. Louis taught him to be brave, so that much Louis knows is his fault, but Liam always has to take it to the extreme. Liam became brave, so he had to become a hero.

The soldiers who enlisted had to think of themselves that way too, like they’re heroes coming to liberate the Vietnamese when all they were doing was coming to slaughter them. He’s heard the soldiers gloat, he’s heard they’re unrepentant. If Liam says he knows he was a pawn, then Liam has probably spent years telling himself this is what he wanted so he could live with what he’s done.

“So you don’t regret what you’ve done?” Louis asks, blunter than he intended, but he has to know. Liam has to say no before Louis can even consider forgiving him.

“I didn’t say that,” Liam says quickly. “I’m saying I did what I had to do. I looked after my men, that’s what I wanted to do, that was my purpose.” He takes a quick shuddering breath and it feels like a preparation. “I regret losing some of them. I regret that I couldn’t save them. But I can’t change anything or take back anything else I’ve done. I did it, so what’s the point?”

Louis had always figured Liam had lost soldiers, but hearing him talk about it, even if it’s not much, even hurts Louis. Liam probably has them catalogued away, in permanent residence in the list of mistakes he’s made that he uses to hold over his own head. When Liam gets sad or discouraged, he pulls on those mistakes, even the smallest ones that stopped mattering the second after he made them, just to prove he has every reason to feel worthless. He’s watched Liam do this for two years, tried to break Liam of the habit, and it hurts to see he wasn’t successful.

“You didn’t have to do any of it in the first place. We could have found another way out. We could have told them and they would have let us stay home,” Louis says, almost feeling like he’s pleading. He doesn’t know why, he can’t change anything, same as Liam. But he’s still stuck on the fact that Liam never had to make the mistakes in the first place.

Gay men can’t go to war. Louis would have done anything to prove they were together and couldn’t be drafted. Louis would have said all manner of terrible, untrue things about himself if it meant the army was too disgusted to take him to war. Louis doesn’t know why he didn’t think of it then, but he still feels Liam wouldn’t have gone for that either. Liam wouldn’t have been able to risk shaming his parents. Liam would have been too embarrassed by who he was to tell anyone the truth, Louis knows it. He can’t help himself, though, he can’t stop trying to get Liam to admit he was wrong.

“Told them what?” Liam asks.

“We loved each other,” Louis says impatiently.

That seems to break something in Liam, which Louis doesn’t understand. He draws up, pushing back his shoulders, and he looks down at Louis with disgust on every inch of his face. “Don’t insult me,” Liam growls. Louis takes a step back without meaning to.

For a moment, Louis thinks it might have been a lie. But it wasn’t a lie, they loved each other. They were everything to each other. He saved Liam from himself, from curling into himself so far that nobody could bring him back. He made Liam take stock of his own worth. Liam was the first thing he thought of in the morning and the last thing at night. He made Liam his family. Louis would be damned if Liam didn’t feel the same way.

Louis stares at him. All he can say is a dumbstruck, “What?”

“You never loved me,” Liam says, his voice shaking with anger. “I know that now. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

Louis has it backward. He doesn’t understand how Liam can look at what they had and think it was a lie. Louis was irretrievably gone for Liam, he would have done anything for Liam. How did he miss that?

“What the fuck, Liam,” Louis breathes. He remembers suddenly Liam saying something to this effect on Sunday as well. “How can you be so stupid?”

Liam looks away from him, his shoulders curling instinctively, straight into the same defensive position he’d get in back then when he thought Louis was mad at him. Louis was never mad at him, not until Liam did this in response, like he was preparing for Louis to attack him.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Louis says, waving his hand impatiently.

“Then why did you say it like that?” Liam challenges, glancing back up at him. His eyes aren’t angry anymore, they’re hurt because Louis hurt him without meaning to. Louis struggles to find something right to say.

“I’m not stupid,” Liam adds, the challenge still in his voice, daring Louis to say otherwise. For all Louis wanted to help him, he never thought of Liam as stupid or helpless, only lacking in confidence.

“No, you’re not,” Louis confirms. Liam relaxes his shoulders a little, but he waits, maybe for Louis to correct his question before he’ll respond. “I just don’t understand why you thought I didn’t love you. Because that’s not true.”

Liam watches him carefully, confused and concerned. Louis thinks he won’t say anything, but Louis has to hear it. He has to know whatever twisted thing Liam has been telling himself for seven years to convince himself he doesn’t matter. Liam always does this. No matter how much Louis has tried to tell him otherwise.

“I know I always loved you more,” Liam says finally, his face pinching up like he’s struggling to articulate. “You were everything to me, my whole life from start to finish. I knew it wasn’t the same for you and I was okay with that. You had the boys and you had your whole family, you had a whole life full of reasons for living. Even though you were sharing those things with me, most days it felt like I only had you. I only had them because I had you.”

Louis wants to shout at him that he’s wrong, that none of that is true, that just an hour ago, they both knew that Louis said I love you first. He’s just not sure Liam would believe him. Louis did share his family and friends with Liam because that was how he had shown Liam he was important. Louis gave Liam everything that he loved because he trusted Liam more than anything.

“But you said you didn’t want to come back to me,” Liam says. “When we were on the phone that last day. I said if you left, you couldn’t come home. You said _good_. Like it was so easy for you to live without me, even though I knew I couldn’t live without you. And it was--” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “You sounded so _disgusted_ that I wanted you. It wasn’t hard to imagine you never did.”

Louis remembers that, he remembers lashing out. Liam hurt him so Louis wanted to hurt him back. If he hurt Liam, then maybe Louis could distract himself from his own pain. He lashes out to defend himself, he detaches so it doesn’t hurt so much. He didn’t think for a moment that Liam would internalize his words, let it consume their entire relationship until Liam couldn’t remember what was true. Louis should have known he was going to do that. Maybe Louis did know he was going to do that, and maybe back then, Louis didn’t care.

Louis doesn’t want to hurt him now, though. He wants to reach out for Liam, because he’s _Liam_ , and Louis instinctively always wants to care for him. He doesn’t reach out, though, he just says, “I was just angry because you weren’t there. I didn’t mean it.”

“Then why did you say it?” Liam repeats heatedly. “You keep saying things you don’t mean, Louis, so how am I supposed to know what’s real? How am I supposed to trust anything you say?”

Louis feels like he’s been knocked over. Liam is attacking him again and Liam never does that. Louis was about to let him off easy, but not if it means Louis has to take a few hits in the meantime. It makes Louis’ skin crawl and his brain becomes too fuzzy to be anything other than defensive. Louis _can_ be trusted. Liam thinks so little of him, telling Louis that just because Louis didn’t get his way, then he was going to throw away everything they’d built together? That Louis was going to stomp his feet like a child and refuse to love Liam?

“You’re one to talk about trust, Liam, you fucking _left_ me waiting at the bus station. You weren’t even going to tell me you weren’t coming. If I hadn’t called you, you would have just let me go without saying a word. Maybe you never really loved me.”

“I told you, you just weren’t listening,” Liam argues. That’s such bullshit.

“When did you tell me?” Louis prompts.

Liam rubs at his neck, shifting his eyes away from Louis. Louis knows he’s right. “I talked about my doubts, I said I didn’t want to go.”

“When did you sit down and put your hands on my face and say to me explicitly, when did you say, _Louis, I don’t want to go to Canada with you_. When did you say that?” Louis wants a fucking _date and time_.

“I didn’t,” Liam says, his voice going low.

“I fucking thought so.”

“When did I have time?” Liam snaps. “When did you stop talking for a second to let me tell you anything? You were in control and you made it very clear that what I wanted didn’t mean anything when it meant disagreeing with you.”

That feels like a slap to Louis’ face. “I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do. Any time I tried to say something, it was _don’t be a stick in the mud, Liam_ or _don’t be so uptight, Liam_ or _shut up, Liam_. I didn’t want to break into the gym or break my curfew and make my parents angry at me or any of that.”

“But you did them anyway,” Louis accuses. Liam didn’t have to do anything Louis wanted him to do. Louis is tired of being treated like a child always on the verge of a temper tantrum. If Liam had just asked him, if they had just talked about it, they could have fixed it. Louis was not averse to compromise.

“Because I can’t say no to you,” Liam replies, looking stressed. “You were you and I was in love with you and I would have jumped out of a plane without a parachute if you were going to do it with me. For a while at least.”

Louis can’t help scowling. He doesn’t like Liam describing himself as a victim, like Louis was practically holding him at gunpoint so Liam would do what he wanted. Liam said yes. Liam said yes every time. “Well, if you hated it so much, why didn’t you leave?”

“I didn’t know there was anything wrong. I thought it was supposed to be that way. I thought you were helping me.”

“I wasn’t helping you?”  Louis asks. Because he was helping Liam. Liam did need to lighten up or to remember what it was like to have fun. Liam needed to be pushed out of his comfort zone every once in a while because the comfort zone was smothering him.

“Not always,” Liam says, his voice low. He closes his eyes and pinches his nose, a calming action that only works to rile Louis further.

Louis quirks his eyebrows up in defiance, trying and failing to keep his tone clear of irritation. “I just don’t get why you did it, if you didn’t want to.”

“You have to stop getting defensive,” Liam says, throwing his hands up. “I’m just telling you what it was like for me. Please, just listen, for once, please.”

Louis snaps his mouth shut. He can listen. Especially if Liam thinks he can’t.

“I needed it. I wanted it,” Liam continues. He sounds so desperate.  “I thought I deserved it. I thought you were making me worthy of being your boyfriend, and I wanted to prove I was worthy of you. I wanted so much to be worthy of you. And I never was.”

Whatever is left that holds Louis together crumples. Louis can see the way Liam’s words eat him up, like they’re too painful to admit, but Liam soldiers on anyway because it has to be done. Liam has spent years repressing everything he’s felt about this, Louis can tell because Liam does this about everything else. But Louis never imagined, for even a second, Liam would do this about them. Louis thought he was different, he thought Liam knew he didn’t have to do that.

“I’m sorry if you felt that way,” Louis begins, working hard to sound gentle, “but I never meant to make you feel like anything other than the best you could be. When I looked at you, I saw who you could be, who you were hiding because you didn’t think you deserved to be paid attention to or loved.”

“I know. You _liked_ it, though, and that hurt,” Liam says, shifting his weight between his feet. He seems as uncomfortable saying these things about Louis as Louis is hearing it. “You liked changing me and you liked that I was willing to do what you told me to do and I wanted to make you happy. I liked feeling important to you. We all do. It’s something special to be picked to be part of Louis Tomlinson’s life.”

“Liam,” Louis starts, but Liam talks over him, a first.

“But I can’t do that anymore. I can’t give all of myself to a person, it’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to them. I can’t love someone if I have to keep proving my worth to them, if I have to keep justifying why they need to love me. I won’t.”

Liam sets his jaw, looking more determined and less angry, like he’s anticipating Louis will challenge him on that. Louis won’t. He doesn’t have any fight left in him because Liam has no reason to lie. He’s never been subtle, always been a terrible liar, even though he’s kept this thing eating away at him a secret for so long. Louis was just too caught up in himself and in his own needs to stop and to think about Liam feeling any different than what he said. He always took Liam at his word that things were okay because he didn’t have a reason to suspect otherwise.

“You never had to do anything to be worthy of me.” Louis says as honestly as he can manage, his eyes widening with the need to be believed. “I never needed convincing, I never needed proof. You were enough.”

Liam wipes at his eyes, not letting the tears escape enough to be visible. He looks away from Louis like he wants to hide his vulnerability. Louis wishes he wouldn’t; he’s on the verge of tears himself.

“It didn’t feel that way,” Liam mumbles.

“Well, it was that way. I’m…” Louis swallows hard. He reaches out finally and rests one of his hands over Liam’s where it’s worrying the hem of his shirt. Liam stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t make it clearer to you. I’m sorry I did that to you, even if I didn’t know I was doing it. But you have to tell me when you feel that way, otherwise I’ll never know. I’m pretty talented, but I can’t read minds.”

“I was scared,” Liam tells his shoes, but Louis can feel Liam press his thumb against Louis’ hand.

“I know. I know that now, at least. But you’re too brave to be scared now.” Louis waits until Liam nods and he adds, “Look at me.” Liam looks at him, blinking slowly. “I’m sorry.”

Liam nods again, not offering forgiveness or an apology of his own, and Louis isn’t sure he deserves or even wants either. He folds his arms back together and Louis tries to feel like they haven’t lost their connection, like whatever understanding was coursing between them severed when Liam pulled his hand away. Liam shivers a little, still needs a coat, but he doesn’t seem interested in moving to get one.

“That’s all I have to say,” Louis says, almost tacking a shrug to the end of that. Every inch of him feels drained, like he’s ready to collapse at any second.

“Yeah,” Liam says with a wet laugh that sounds more than a little startled. “I guess that’s that.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.” Louis dusts his hands off and they nearly smile at each other.

“Well. I’ve had a couple of years to figure it out,” he says. “And despite my best efforts, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Louis’ lips curl down a little. Even in the face of a tension-relieving joke, Liam is still earnest as can be. It’s all an act for Louis, hiding behind lame attempts to relieve the tension between them. He doesn’t want Liam to think he’s not taking all of this seriously, but Louis doesn’t want to drown under the weight of what Liam’s told him. Louis hasn’t been a very good person.

“Hey,” says Zayn, his sudden appearance frightening both of them. “You are officially summoned for _MASH_ time.” He looks between the two of them carefully.

Louis hesitates to leave this roof where everything they feel is laid out before them, where they may start to understand each other, where they may begin to heal. Louis knows everything has to be written on his face, he doesn’t think he can hide it from the rest of them. They’ll see he’s been stripped bare, every inch of him vulnerable.

Louis knows Liam’s truth now, how used he felt, how undervalued he felt, how he was just willing to let Louis do whatever he wanted at the cost of Liam’s own feelings and self-worth. What if the rest of them feel the same way about him? Harry knows he’s too easily manipulated and he lets it happen anyway. Niall knows he’s pitied by everyone he meets but he refuses to hold anyone accountable for it. Louis doesn’t even _know_ Zayn anymore so he can’t even guess at him. Maybe he’s too unaffected by anyone or anything to care.

Liam’s hand on Louis’ back sends a jolt through Louis’ body. He doesn’t know if he wants to be touched right now, but he allows himself to be led to the door nonetheless. Liam’s hand disappears when Louis takes the stairs too quickly to be caught up with.

Louis quickly claims the recliner for himself before Liam can. He watches the four of them gather around the couch, debating seating positions, none of them looking to Louis or asking him why he looks like his entire world has come crashing around him.

 _MASH_ ends up being a television show based on a movie, neither of which Louis has seen. Louis senses the four of them getting together to watch the show is something of a tradition. It’s about the army, Louis sees that much, in a place that is very _definitely not_ Vietnam, but might as well be, and a doctor named Hawkeye is having nightmares. There’s a laugh track, but nothing about it is funny.

Louis shifts uncomfortably in the recliner, feeling as progressively unsettled as Hawkeye does. He can’t help flicking his eyes over to Liam and Niall, who watch the screen passively. He doesn’t know how they don’t flinch every time something happens to Hawkeye on the screen.

This is their lives on television, millions of people watch this show, and they’re okay with it. Getting torn up about life or death decisions isn’t a joke, and it’s not going to be solved in a couple clever lines of dialogue. Hawkeye’s life is slowly torturing him and he’s not even a soldier like Liam and Niall were. Hawkeye didn’t even take lives; he only tried to save them.

“You dream to escape, but the war invades your dream and you wake up screaming,” the doctor with all the answers tells Hawkeye. “The dream is peaceful. Reality is the nightmare.”

What’s worse is there’s no easy fix for Hawkeye. There’s no healing him. He’s just told it’ll go away in time or it’ll maybe become easier to deal with if it doesn’t go away. Louis doesn’t like that, he doesn’t think Hawkeye should settle for that.

Reality might be Liam’s nightmare. It might be Niall’s nightmare. Louis won’t know because he can bet neither of them would admit to it. Louis can’t stop wondering if this is what their lives are like, even after all this time. If they can turn it off. If they expect someone waiting to kill them around every corner. If they can dream peacefully.

Zayn excuses himself after the episode is finished, begging off the night’s remaining festivities in favor of returning home to his family. He goes down the line, doling out hugs one by one, and when he reaches Louis, he holds him tight and presses a kiss to his temple. Zayn knows, of course he does because Zayn always notices everything. Maybe not in a vaguely magical way. Maybe he was just standing on the other side of the door to the roof waiting for a lull in conversation to interrupt them.

“We’re going to talk,” Zayn promises, loud enough for only Louis to hear him.

“Call me when you have that baby,” Louis replies, which is not directly related to what Zayn’s said.

“I will.”

“You better,” Louis says. He’s missed everything. He’s missed Zayn’s engagement and Zayn’s wedding and Josie’s birth and practically everything most important in Zayn’s life and he’ll be damned if he misses this one.

Liam offers to walk Zayn out to his car, the two of them murmuring quietly to each other. So Liam’s going to get his side of the story in first. Louis wonders if there are even still sides left, because from where he’s standing, Louis really feels like he’s done the most wrong.

Louis stands by the recliner trying to figure out why he skipped out on the perfect opportunity to leave with Zayn. He watches as Niall pulls himself up from the wheelchair, and in what looks like a very practiced move, he pirouettes and throws himself onto the couch now that there’s plenty of room for him.

“Are you all right?” Harry asks, reaching over the arm of the couch to pat at Louis’ thigh. He turns his stupid big green eyes up to meet Louis’. _Of course_ Louis had been telegraphing his fight with Liam all over his face all night, he knew he couldn’t have been that subtle. Everyone just seems unsure of how to approach him about it.

“Liam and I talked,” Louis explains vaguely.

“And?” Harry says expectantly.

“We’re working on it,” Louis says because their problem isn’t going to be fixed with a clever line of dialogue either. They have miles to go.

Harry lights up like Louis has just announced it’ll be Christmas every day from here on out.

“About fucking time,” Niall says grumpily, like they’ve had more than five days to wade through seven years of shit and they’ve just been wasting their time together.

Louis is saved from having to talk further by Liam -- a phrase he never thought could be applicable again. Liam peeks at Louis occasionally, like he’s checking in with him. Louis doesn’t know what he’s checking in about. That Louis is doing okay. That Louis will change his mind about their argument. That Louis is going to storm out at any minute.

Louis isn’t okay, he hasn’t changed his mind, and nothing but sheer stubbornness is keeping him at this guys’ night at this point. He shows them all that he’s good at caring about their lives. He asks questions, prompting their stories but never sharing any of his own. Eventually Louis stops talking altogether as the three of them tell stories Louis doesn’t have a part in. They talk about their lives without Louis, a wealth of memories where they didn’t need Louis to be happy or to have fun. Once again Louis feels obsolete. He could disappear and they wouldn’t know the difference now that they’re so accustomed to life without him.

Louis hates that he has nothing to add to their conversation, spending hours in silence and drinking every bottle in his six pack. Louis can talk for days about nothing at all because silence is terrifying. _This isn’t me_ , he thinks.

Just after midnight Niall is giggling into Harry’s hair and poking at his cheek, because for every drink Louis had, Niall had at least two.

“All right,” Harry says, not swatting his hand away, just letting the pokes happen. “To bed, sir.”

“Nooo,” Niall moans, but he straightens up anyway so Harry can rise from the couch and scoop him up into his arms.

“Liam?” Harry asks and Liam answers, “Yeah.” It feels like a business as usual transaction between the two of them, using a shorthand because what needs to be done doesn’t need to be said.

Harry looks between the two of them and says lightly, “Niall’s bed is open.” Niall hooks his head over Harry’s shoulder and winks at the two of them.

As soon as they’re clear of the living room, Louis says, “I’ll take the couch.” He moves back over to the couch just to drive the point home.

Liam nods and disappears off to Niall’s room and Louis thinks for a terrifying minute that that’s it. Not that he needs an elaborate ritual to bid each other good night or a half hug or a formal handshake or anything. But Louis is abruptly alone and instead of it feeling like a relief, it feels empty.

But then Liam comes back into the room, a blanket in his arms. Liam places the blanket on the arm of the couch instead of handing it to Louis and he takes a few steps back, like he’s a cat that’s placed a dead mouse in front of its owner and waits patiently to see how the owner will take the offering.

Louis mutters his thanks, unfolding the blanket and tossing it over his legs. Liam walks through the rest of the living room, picking up pieces of food from the floor and the coffee table and tossing them onto one of the trays.

There’s probably food in the couch too, but Liam steers clear.

“It was weird, wasn’t it?” Louis says before clarifying. “Tonight.”

“Why do you say that?” Liam says, which probably means he doesn’t want to say yes like he should, because yes is the truth.

“Nevermind,” Louis says. They’re not there yet. Louis can’t tell him anything because he doesn’t know where the line is between being Liam’s friend and taking advantage of him. It should be an easy and clear line to see, but Louis was apparently blind to it for two years. It makes him too cautious.

“Okay,” Liam says, sounding almost like he’s disappointed.

As Liam putters around in the kitchen, a debate rages within Louis. He doesn’t know who to talk to about this because the only people he has who would understand the context are the people he has a problem with.

“I just don’t know how to talk to them sometimes,” Louis admits, pulling his blanket up further to cover his shoulders. His words stop Liam in his tracks. He looks over to Louis with his _I’m listening_ face, spurring him on. “I feel like I don’t know them anymore.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Liam deadpans. Louis throws him a look for a moment before dropping it once he realizes what Liam’s said.

He supposes Liam does know about that. He imagines Liam came home from war feeling exactly like Louis does, that he was different and all his friends were different. That their shorthand doesn’t work anymore. That they had to do the work to become friends all over again. And Liam didn’t even have Louis’ help the second time around.

“If it helps at all, they don’t really know how to talk to you either,” Liam adds.

“Not really,” Louis says. He wishes he could push a button and make it like it was. They would call him Tommo and it wouldn’t sound strained from seven years of disuse.

“Sometimes it helps knowing people feel the same way you do.” Liam shrugs, wandering back towards Niall’s room. “Makes me feel less alone, at least. Good night, Louis.”

In the silence Louis finally breaks, crying into a throw pillow as quietly as he can because the sounds of his hitched breaths seem to echo around the empty room.

His mind drifts to Liam, as it too often does, but he finds himself worrying about Liam instead of fuming about him.  Does he regret his relationship with Louis, if the whole thing was as toxic as he says? Or does he refuse to regret what he’s done, like the war? Has Louis ruined Liam like Louis is sure the war has ruined him?

Louis falls asleep wondering if Liam will sleep tonight or if he has nightmares like Hawkeye. He falls asleep with his face wet and his throat thick and his stomach in knots and his mind wondering if he’s made a mistake coming home.

\--


	12. December 24, 1973

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this is the chapter with war violence, please be safe)

_(The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down - The Band)_

* * *

_December 24, 1973_

Liam gets a letter now that they’ve stopped moving long enough to put up a temporary camp while they await further instruction. A unit came by a few hours ago with provisions, mail, and official communication, and Liam is surprised to receive something. He hasn’t gotten anything in the better part of a year. The letter looks like it’s been through hell and back getting to Liam. Liam thinks he knows how the letter feels.

The envelope is crumpled and so dirty Liam can barely make out his own name on it, and he has to squint really hard in the darkness of the tent to see it’s from Ruth at her MASH unit. There’s no postmark, but it’s addressed to Private First Class Payne, Liam, so it has to be years old. He turns the envelope over and over in his hands like he has been since he got it, but he can’t seem to open it.

The letter has already been opened and taped shut. Pieces of the old yellowing tape flick away easily when Liam picks at it, but he still doesn't open it.

He nabbed a tent from the supplies as well, a luxury he doesn't usually afford himself, preferring to sleep under the same sheet of canvas his men do. He's likely to leave it behind once they get the orders to move on.  But the tent came in and his men passed it along with a "Give this to the Sarge," said with more disdain than respect, one of the hazards of being both very young and in charge. Liam is not usually one to disappoint or defy expectations, so he takes the tent and sets it up, even though it's not much more than two poles and a bigger stretch of canvas than he's used to.

Most of them don't like him much. He doesn't trade stories about the girls back home. He doesn't ask questions about their moms or their dogs. They don't celebrate his birthday. It's easier this way.

He's not here to make friends. He's here to take care of his men from the start of their tour until the day they go home. Liam doesn't go home, he doesn't even entertain the notion of going home, he stays and works hard, promoted easily and quickly even as an NCO. He's lost thirteen men in two years, and for that they've given him chevrons and a small unit to command.

His commanding officer says he has leadership potential. Liam never really understood how people could look at him as a leader. He’s always followed, his whole life he’s looked to others to tell him what to do and who to be -- that’s why the army has been such a success for him. But now he has command, he’s responsible for other people’s lives. It’s exhilarating and terrifying, and he likes it a lot. He likes being dependable, he likes the responsibility, he likes having a purpose. He has his men. Ensuring their safety and survival is his duty and he’s going to take care of them as best he can, even if their respect for him never grows to anything more than grudging. He guesses this makes him a leader.

Sometimes he thinks he misses people, but he’s been so spoiled for people in his life, he’s had too many good ones, that he’s not sure he deserves people anymore. He misses his boys back home, but he won’t return to them. He’s been gone for four years and he thinks he’s afraid to go back to them. He knows he’s not the same, he feels he’s not the same, but he doesn’t know how to articulate it. He feels tense. In a way he’s always felt tense, always prepared to act in the event that he’s done something wrong, but it is a different kind of tense when it’s a matter of life and death.  

He reenlists, wondering if maybe he’s sparing some poor kid a spot in the draft every time, or if the army just takes anyway, filling their quota not out of need but simply because they can. He doesn’t go home because he doesn’t belong there anymore. This is all he knows now: sleeplessness and mud and fear and death and waiting.

It's raining, almost always is, and the rain hits the tent like soft and slow gunfire, almost calming and familiar in a morbid way.  It doesn't even occur to him that gunfire shouldn't be considered ambient noise. The men are singing Christmas carols even though they shouldn't be making too much noise. They're secluded enough, they swept the area for miles before they were allowed to settle in, so Liam lets them celebrate. It is Christmas, after all.

“Knock knock,” says a quiet voice from outside the tent.

“Who's there?” Liam asks, propping himself up onto his elbows.

“It's Tom."

“It's Tom who?”

“It's Tom Jones,” Tom says, ducking his head between the folds of the canvas, barely visible in the light of Liam’s rifle’s flashlight. “What's new, pussycat?”

Liam smiles at him and Tom smiles back. Tom salutes him because he’s the only one left who salutes him genuinely, if at all. It is dangerous to salute the authority here anyway, but nobody ever respects him enough to do it in earnest. Liam doesn’t mind. So long as they listen to him when it matters, he doesn’t much care to have their respect because it means so little to him.

“At ease, private,” Liam says, like it’s a private joke between the two of them and not protocol.

“Permission to come aboard, sir,” Tom asks.

“This is the army, not the navy,” Liam replies blandly, which Tom takes to mean yes because he’s pushing the rest of himself into the tent and carefully settling near the front pole. He’s stripped down to his boxers and undershirt -- a dangerous game to play with the rain and the mud and he doesn’t even have the benefit of the heat to explain his state of undress. Liam always sleeps as close to combat-ready as he can manage.

“Is it? Goddamn it all, I was meant to be out at sea, completely out of harm’s way,” Tom complains. He scratches at his ear, and Liam notices he has shaving cream on the hinge of his jaw. Liam thinks about telling him, but watching the shaving cream bounce up and down with his voice is kind of funny. “My father must have bribed the wrong military official.”

Liam likes Tom, who is charming and funny and refuses to ignore him even though the rest of their unit does. No one gets on Tom about it because Tom is charming and funny and he can have any of them laughing so quickly they’ll have forgotten all about it. Tom is familiar, even though he was a stranger until about seven months ago. Liam would go so far as to call Tom his friend if he chose to have friends and if Tom wasn’t his subordinate.

It’s weird to see Tom without the familiar camera hanging around his neck either. Tom’s always snapping pictures, sometimes of his fellow soldiers, sometimes of the landscape. Liam wonders why he does this. He wants to know if he’s sending them home or if he wants mementos of his time here, like it’s just an extended vacation. Liam can’t imagine wanting to take anything home from here.

“You get a letter?” Tom asks.

Liam instinctively holds the letter a little closer to his chest, reminiscent of the days where someone wouldn’t hesitate to rip it from his hands. Tom makes a little offended face at the action, prompting Liam to relax a little.

“From your girl?” Tom asks.

“My sister,” Liam says. He runs his thumb over the tape, feeling out what he can of the jagged pieces of envelope haphazardly stitched back together. Liam folds up the envelope and stuffs it into a pocket, just so he doesn’t have to keep looking at it.

“Bad news?”

“I don’t know.” _Probably_ , Liam does not say.

He doesn’t know why he can’t open it. He doesn’t know why no one’s sent him a letter in a year. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t sent any of his own in two years. They were all empty anyway, the letters. He couldn’t tell them what he was doing or where he was or how he was doing. He never asked if Louis has come back and nobody offered the information up. Stories from home hurt and the last piece he’d kept, a carefully hand drawn birthday card from Louis’ sisters practically disintegrated in his hands late last year. So maybe that’s why.

“The guys got some whiskey off the supply, do you want some?” Tom asks casually, reading how that part of the conversation is finished. Tom is casual for a soldier, he’s loose, which probably adds to his charm. Liam’s so tense he can’t remember what it’s like to relax and he wonders if Tom could show him. He wonders if Tom would understand. But Tom is new, he’s green, he hasn’t really seen anything yet.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Liam says politely, because he knows for a fact it’s a terrible idea. He would only serve to dampen the mood like he always does, and the men would all feel like they’re being watched and therefore not allowed to have a good time. Just because Liam’s tense doesn’t mean he wants the rest of them to feel that way. He envies that they can forget, even if it’s just for an hour. Either they haven’t seen the things that Liam’s seen or they can turn off the things they’ve seen in order to survive.

“All right,” Tom says, but he doesn’t make any effort to leave.

“You can,” Liam says. He doesn’t want Tom to miss out just to stay with Liam. He doesn’t want Tom to think he can’t do things because Liam doesn’t want to.

“I'm okay here,” Tom says, without really asking permission to stay. Liam would give it to him anyway. Tom looks uncomfortable, hunched over his drawn up knees, like he's okay with taking up Liam's space, but only if it's the smallest amount of space he can.

Liam has never really pictured himself as an intimidating presence, if anything he's too intimidated by others. Maybe it's not intimidation Tom feels, maybe he just thinks Liam won't let him get comfortable. Because Liam is standoffish. He has to be, in order to survive, because Tom could get transferred at any moment and they'd never hear from each other again. Or worse.

“You can relax,” Liam says in spite of himself. He picks up his rifle and his pack from next to him and places them down by his feet.

Tom takes no time at all flopping down on his back next to Liam, bracketing the back of his head with his arms, like he’s lying down to catch some sun at the pool. The shaving cream on his jaw threatens to wipe off on his undershirt.

“You have shaving cream on your jaw,” Liam says.

“Where?” Tom says, reaching at his chin.

“Your jaw on the right,” Liam says, pointing but not touching. He can’t touch.

“Here?” Tom says, wiping at his nose furiously.

“Your _jaw_.”

“Ohhhh,” Tom says and starts wiping at his forehead. “I got it, thank you.”

Liam chuckles at him, a strong one that squints his eyes, and he’s so surprised by it, he almost stops laughing. It’s a stupid joke, not even worthy of more than a grudging smile, but Tom is friendly and Liam feels relief. “You’re an asshole,” Liam says.

“No, I’m not,” Tom says, throwing an offended hand over his heart and fixing Liam with a fake glare.

It’s too familiar, the wrong side of familiar, and the smile leaks from Liam’s face. He turns his eyes back up to the top of the tent where it’s safe to look.

“No, you’re not,” Liam says quietly and lets the conversation die. Eventually Tom will get bored of Liam and go back out to join the revelers outside, so Liam waits for that.

“Merry Christmas, by the way,” Tom says instead. Out of the corner of his eye, Liam can see him lifting his shoulder and smearing away the shaving cream onto his shirt anyway. It’s going to stiffen the shirt and Tom is going to regret it, but there’s nothing Liam can do about it now. “Do you have any plans besides pouting alone in your tent?”

“I’m not pouting,” Liam says, which sounds like a pout but it isn’t.

“You have been pouting since you got up this morning,” Tom says, “but I get it. It’s the holidays. Homesick?”

Liam hasn’t been homesick in years. He doesn’t get the point. He isn’t homesick, he’s Louissick, in a way he only allows himself to be once per year. If he can say the words out loud, allow them to leave his body, maybe he can let them go and they won’t come back to him.

“It’s my ex’s birthday,” Liam admits. Tom makes a sympathetic noise, so Liam adds, “Also our anniversary.”

“You got together on her birthday? That’s very smart,” he laughs, “you’ll never forget your anniversary that way. Always aim for major holidays.”

Liam doesn’t even consider correcting Tom because he doesn’t trust him that much. If the rest of his men find out they’ll turn him in in a heartbeat to rid themselves of their too young, too hard-assed sergeant.

“Tends to dampen major holidays once you break up, though,” Liam points out.

“Fuck her,” Tom says. “Don't get sad, get drunk, have fun. That’s the best way to get back at her, to show her you don’t need her anymore. That you’re doing just fine without her.” He pauses and considers this. “Not that she knows what you’re doing because she’s not here. Either way, I recommend getting shitfaced.”

“No, thanks,” Liam says.

“Knock back a bit, you'll feel better.” He leans up and scoots forward for the tent flap, no doubt heading for the whiskey. Liam’s not in the mood tonight, or ever really. He likes being present and 100% in control of himself at all times, and he doesn’t trust himself to know how to take it easy. He’s been drunk a few times back home because Louis pesters and pesters until he gets what he wants, and Liam’s hated it every time.

So Liam firmly repeats, “No,” the heat of which stops Tom in his tracks. Tom looks uncertain for a moment, like he might have crossed a line. Liam makes the effort to relax himself a little from his defensive position, from jumping to justify his choice. Tom didn’t really do anything wrong and Liam doesn’t want him be another victim of Liam’s inability to calm down. He adds, “But I’ll take a plate of beans if there are any left.”

“Fine,” he says, cracking a smile and nodding slowly. Liam can still sense the hesitancy, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. Tom continues, “But the second you get gas, I'm out of here. I have a highly sensitive sense of smell and a weak stomach. And I will not hesitate to vomit all over you.”

“Yeah, all right, Tommo,” Liam says with a laugh and then his blood freezes, everything in his body freezes, and he can’t imagine what his face looks like, but he feels like it’s displaying something close to horror.

Tom cocks his head a little in consideration, not looking at Liam, who’s too dumbfounded to say anything. “Tommo. I like it,” Tom decides and then scoots out of the tent.

“Fuck,” Liam says quietly, leaning back and covering his face with his hands.

He's thinking about how to back out of that one, how to explain that Tom can't keep the name, that Tom is nothing like him and Liam doesn’t want him to be, when he hears the first gunshot followed by the shouting. He bolts up out of habit, but throws himself back down to the ground. He douses his flashlight and leaves it behind as he snatches his rifle and jams on his helmet before crawling out. The flashlight will just draw attention to himself, but Liam really can’t see shit.

Gunfire comes heavily from the trees surrounding the camp, the spark of machine guns giving away the enemy’s positions only moments at a time. Terrible strategy, Liam assesses -- surrounding the area and ambushing from all angles is probably sufficient for picking off the enemy quickly, but this strategy also increases the possibility for friendly fire by stray bullets. Liam would never recommend this course of action.

Liam crouches and begins to bark orders to the first group of his soldiers he sees lying by the small mound of ashes and branches from the bonfire they'd built. They move quick and low to their packs to grab their guns before following Liam's signals to where he'd seen gunfire in the trees. It seems to come from all over, their clearing is surrounded on almost every side, which does allow them to lay suppressive fire en masse without worrying about hitting single targets with a single shot, but it also means they have no idea how many soldiers they’re up against.

His unit return fire as Liam moves swiftly forward, taking stock of his men, pointing them in the directions they need to focus in to retaliate. He pulls Samuels aside and has him radio their coordinates for assistance. He counts off each of them in a mental roll call, but at the end of it, Tom's missing.

Just as the Viet Cong begin a new assault, Liam spots Tom standing on the other side of the bonfire, in his boxers still and weaponless.

“Tom!” Liam hisses at him and lunges for him as bullets fly around them. In the moments before he tackles Tom, he sees Tom's face wrenched with fear, his eyes wide and helpless. Liam floors him and unloads a good portion of his clip at the portion of the trees that lit up as they fired at them.

Liam turns back to Tom where he slammed him to the ground and the sight makes Liam want to pass out. There’s a sizable hole in Tom’s neck, blood gushing thickly from his throat as he wheezes in jagged attempts at breath. He looks up at Liam with that same intense look of fear, like he knows the light is fading from his eyes.

“Fuck, fuck, Tom,” Liam gasps, wrapping his hand around Tom’s neck to apply pressure to the wound. But Liam knows a lost cause when he sees one.

Tom reaches a hand up to clutch at Liam’s wrist, so Liam adjusts his hand to grip Tom’s. He squeezes his reassurance into Tom’s hand as Tom fishmouths up at him, probably trying to talk, to give his goodbye, but nothing but gurgling sounds come out as the blood works its way up and out of his throat, staining his undershirt. Liam shushes him gently and waits. Even though he’s vulnerable where they lay, Liam waits.

He doesn’t have to wait long, not even a minute, before Tom is gone.

Liam has never watched anyone die. He’s seen death, he’s caused death, but he never, in his nearly four years of service, actually sat to watch someone die. He’s never watched someone fade away before his eyes, never witnessed their desperation as they attempted to cling for life. He doesn’t think he can do it again. It scares the shit out of him in a way nothing ever has before.

He untangles himself from Tom, resting him gently onto the ground. Liam wants to run, hightail it the fuck out of camp, out of Vietnam, out of everything he’s come to know as his life. He doesn’t want to do this anymore, he’s lost the taste so quickly.

But for now Liam knows he has a job to do and his men to look after, so he picks up his rifle and cuts through the camp, adjusting his assignments as the flash of gunfire betrays the location of the soldiers left. As he nears his tent, he sees a small, round item bounce down the canvas before rolling to a stop on the ground.

Liam’s heart seizes as he recognizes it.

“Grenade!” he calls as he scrambles away quickly, waving at Reynolds, crouched near the tent for cover. Liam and two others are in danger of the blast radius, but Reynolds is the closest. Reynolds looks up at Liam in panic, but doesn’t move away. He throws himself down onto it and in the next second, the grenade explodes, taking Reynolds apart. Liam can’t look at what’s left of his body, there isn’t a hand left to hold. There’s no use thanking him for using his life to save others. He has to keep moving.

He gathers what’s left of his platoon and together, moving cohesively, they slice through the trees, using the darkness to the same advantage as the VC, moving in unpredictable patterns so the lights of their shots don’t betray them completely. Liam barks orders and his soldiers comply quickly, just as they’ve spent hours and hours drilling, but this time, he doesn’t hear any complaining.

With them, Liam takes out member after member of the VC. United under Liam, their win is secured quickly, each enemy laying bullet ridden in the forest, their guns confiscated by Liam’s men. They step over their enemy’s corpses to make more corpses and Liam tries not to see how many of their faces are frozen in death with fear the same way Tom’s was.

He stumbles onto a soldier, literally tramples onto his leg, and they both raise their guns together to shoot. And then they don’t. Liam can see the man’s face, but he looks more like a boy than a man. The soldier’s face is wrenched with anger, but he doesn’t shoot and neither does Liam. Liam wonders if the soldier wants this. This close, the soldier doesn’t look like a target, he just looks like a kid, like Liam is sure he looks like a kid.

Gunshots coming from where Liam’s men have moved on without him shake them out of their paralysis. The other soldier shoots first, a bullet pulling through Liam’s right shoulder, just to the right of where the butt of his rifle was nestled. Liam retaliates fast and efficient, sending a bullet to tearing through the soldier’s left cheek. Liam moves on.

In the end, Liam loses three and the Viet Cong lose twenty-seven. By the time the radio squawks back to life to let them know they have two helicopters incoming, about seven klicks away, Liam is sure the threat is neutralized. The helicopters are now just coming to collect the dead.

Liam tears what’s left of the tent apart and drags the canvas over to cover his three dead men where they’ve been laid out for transport by the bonfire. Rain bounces up off the canvas, still making its soft clacking like gunfire. There’s not enough to cover all of them, two pairs of feet, one booted, one bare, are visible. They’ve piled up what’s left of PFC Reynolds next to Tom -- next to Private Heinen. That’s what Liam will have to call him in his report, not Tom. Private Heinen.

Liam drops himself onto the floor next to them to peel off the top of his uniform carefully, seizing in pain as he maneuvers around his shoulder. His skin puckers unnaturally around the wound, dark and wet and bloody. Liam presses against the front, grinding his teeth down with pain, as he looks at the exit wound. The bullet tore through clear, a small mercy.

“Sergeant,” Samuels says. Liam looks up to find his men looking down at him and he thinks he sees worry on their faces.

“Patch it,” Liam orders. If he moves the wrong way, blood leaks from it, and every minute he leaves the wound open, he risks infection.

“Are you sure? Transport is inbound, they can get you someone who’ll do you better,” Samuels argues, because even though they’re all trained in the basics, Moser was their medic, and Moser is laid up next to Heinen and Reynolds under the canvas with three holes in his chest.

Liam nods and Samuels retrieves Moser’s bag from where it lays next to Heinen’s and Reynolds’ bags. Liam wonders if their effects will be sent back to their families or if they’ll be co-opted by the army. He wonders if Tom’s parents will get to see the last months of his life through the eyes of his camera.

The rest of his unit looks to him -- for instruction or for curiosity or for something else, Liam doesn’t know.

“Clear the camp, scavenge what you can from Charlie, be ready to go in eight minutes,” Liam says and is answered with a chorus of “Yes, sir.” His men move silently about their tasks, lacking the bravado they usually display following a victory. This is what it’s like to win and feel like it’s still a loss.

Liam wishes he had something to bite down on while Samuels stitches him up, but instead he clutches at his knees, digging in until he’s sure his fingers are going to break through the skin. Liam puts his bloody jacket back on after Samuels is done, allowing Samuels to help maneuver so he doesn’t tear his stitches. He sends Samuels off to help stack the VC’s supplies once everyone has returned from clearing the trees.

He should say something to them. He should say something about Reynolds’ braveness, something to honor the memory of those they’ve lost. There aren’t words. Liam used to be able to talk for days about courage and sacrifice, about the honor of fighting for your country. About remembering that even though they are far removed from their home, from the reason they fight, they do have a purpose. But it’s bullshit, isn’t it? What did Tom’s life mean to anyone back at home? Reynolds jumped on a grenade, but what does that mean outside of Vietnam?

Their parents will receive their medals and get their folded flags, but what can Liam point to when their parents ask him why their children had to die? What can Liam say is the direct result for ensuring America’s safety? These three men didn’t die to stop a bomb from decimating an American town. Liam didn’t shoot a man in the face because the man was threatening to kill someone innocent. Liam isn’t innocent.

Liam runs for the trees and almost doesn’t make it far enough from his men before he’s throwing up violently, emptying what feels like everything he’s eaten in the last month. He doesn’t want them to see him weak, but he can’t stop it. His knees shake and he clutches tightly at the bark of the tree just to ground himself. It’s Christmas and they weren’t ready and he’s lost three of them, he’s lost Tom, the only fucking good thing he’s had in years. This is why Liam doesn’t do it. This is why he detaches.

He doesn’t know how long he’s stood at the tree before a hand comes down on his good shoulder. Liam jerks instinctively, reaching over to disable the man if he can, but when he turns he sees it’s a soldier, from one of the helicopters, he guesses, because he doesn’t recognize him.

“Sergeant,” he says like he’s been trying to catch Liam’s attention for a while. He gives a salute and Liam flicks his eyes down to read his rank.

“Corporal,” Liam answers and allows himself to be led out of the camp, past where Tom and the others are being collected by more soldiers Liam doesn’t know, and through the trees to a bigger clearing where the helicopters landed safely. He doesn’t actually know what the protocol is for the dead that aren’t their own. He hopes someone comes to collect them too.

What’s left of his men follow Liam closely, silently, heads bowed. They’re being evacuated apparently, Liam doesn’t ask any questions, he just does what he’s told. Usually he would allow his men to board first, but none of them make efforts to move. They stare up at Liam, their eyes fierce as though the adrenaline of the fight hasn’t left them.

“Sergeant,” Samuels says with a nod.

Liam nods back. He knows he has their respect now. He knows they think he’s done well. They think without Liam they’d have lost more. He's seen notches on helmets, all number of tallies tattooed on arms. But Liam doesn't measure lives taken, only lives lost. That’s sixteen of his men now over the last four years. Sixteen and Liam is done with this whole fucking thing.

Once they’ve lifted off and Liam stretches out his limbs, trying to shake what’s left of the tension from them, he feels the letter shift in his pocket. He plucks it out and turns it over a few times before ripping through what’s left of the tape and unfolding the single page inside. It’s handwritten, cramped and rushed looking at first glance.

Small chunks of the letter have been blacked out, even what was likely the date in the upper right corner of the page. Liam bristles with irritation, even correspondence between two soldiers is heavily censored.

_Dear Liam,_

_I’m stationed in _________ but not for long. I’m finally going home next week. I don’t have a lot of time to tell you all the things I want to tell you, but I’m writing because I’m not sure anyone else could tell you this. Three days ago, a man called Niall Horan came through our camp, said he knew you. He was _____________ in ___________ when he was ambushed by a civilian _______________________._

Liam’s hands won’t stop shaking long enough for him to read what she’s written. He doesn’t want to know what she’s written, he doesn’t want to read that his friend is dead. He has to know, though, so he places the letter in his lap, pressing his hands to the page to keep it from flapping too hard in the wind.

_He ran fast enough to escape most of the blast, but shrapnel tore through most of his left leg. We removed it, he’ll never walk again. This is starting to sound like my official report and I don’t mean to just-the-facts-ma’am you, but I really don’t know how else to say it._

_He’s in good spirits, in spite of everything, perhaps it’s just the shock that he’s still alive. He asked after you and I was saddened that I couldn’t pass on anything but the well wishes I am sure you would have given were you there. In any case, he says hello. I asked him what I should say to you and he just shrugged and said, “Tell him I said hello.”_

The last three lines are blacked out after that, and even when Liam turns the page upside down to squint at the lines her pen might have pressed into the page, he can’t figure it out. She ends her letter with her love and signs her name.

Liam crumples the letter and nearly tosses it out into the open air. It’s Niall and it’s Tom and it’s too much and a scream works its way up from his diaphragm and out into the air, though over the deafening sound of the helicopter blades, Liam can’t even hear himself.

He feels broken now, or maybe he always was and he just didn’t realize it until it was staring him in the face. He has nothing. He thought he had purpose, he thought he was doing something meaningful, but he’ll be damned if he knows what that meaning is. He was just doing what he always did, following orders because it was safe. If he didn’t have to make any choices, he didn’t have to bear the responsibilities of his actions.

But Liam is responsible, he knows, he’s complicit in the murder of his friend and the maiming of another friend, because he’s chosen to sit aside and let other people take control of his life. Years of keeping his head down and following orders and questioning nothing when he should have been questioning everything. At the very least, questioning himself.

He convinced himself he wasn’t taking the coward’s way out by staying in the army. But it’s a different kind of cowardice to hide himself from real life, a life where the instructions don’t come printed on slips from commanding officers, a life where Liam has to take stock of what he’s done and who he’s become.

The very worst part about it is Louis was right about him and about the army. He was right and Liam hates that most.

\--


	13. December 22, 1976

_(Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen, The Great Gig in the Sky - Pink Floyd, You Still Believe in Me - The Beach Boys)_

* * *

_December 22, 1976_

Louis wakes up twice during the night, though he’s really too tired to process much of anything. The first time he is startled awake when he thinks he hears shouting, but when he waits and listens and nothing else happens, he goes back to sleep. The second time Louis wakes up, he sees Liam curled up under a blanket on the recliner next to the couch. He sleeps with his mouth slightly open and his eyes scrunched so tight that it kind of looks uncomfortable. As his eyes slowly drift shut, Louis isn’t really sure Liam’s actually there.

When Louis wakes up the final time, the first thing his blurry eyes focus on is Liam sitting on the same recliner, so Louis’ still not certain if that last one happened. The blinds are closed, but Louis is still certain the sun isn’t up yet. He watches Liam carefully and methodically tie his running shoes; Louis will always recognize Liam’s nearly meditative pre-morning run state.

Liam finishes with his shoes and he flicks his eyes over to Louis, doing a double take when he sees Louis is awake and staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Did I wake you?”

Louis shakes his head and swallows a couple of times so the first sound Liam hears from him isn’t an undignified sleep-induced croak. Not that Liam hasn’t heard it a hundred times before.

“Do you, um. I’m going for a run. Do you want to come with me?” Liam asks, his eyes wide and uncertain.

Louis almost laughs, but instead settles for giving Liam his classic _don’t be stupid, Liam_ look, which Liam answers with the same earnest, questioning eyes. Louis has never, in their nine year history, said yes when asked if he wants to go for a run. Liam can’t have forgotten.

Louis realizes it’s a peace offering, born from their tentative ceasefire last night. Liam is making the first move, offering to share a private part of his life with Louis because Liam always runs alone. Liam is asking if Louis wants to be let in. Louis realizes that’s what Liam has always offered when he asks Louis to accompany him in his morning runs. Liam wasn’t getting on him about fitness, he was trying to explain to Louis why he runs.

“I don’t have any clothing for running,” Louis says finally.

“I have some spares in the closet,” Liam answers quickly, like he can read the yes on the tip of Louis’ tongue. He jumps up to the closet by the giant mountain of shoeboxes and digs around the shelf above all the winter coats.

“Do you live here too?”

“No, I crash here when I can’t drive home.” Liam turns around with old, comfortable looking sweats in his hands.

“When you’re _too drunk_ to drive home?” Louis says, not bothering to fight the smile growing on his face. Liam doesn’t say yes, but the way he tries to hide a blush says enough. “Liam Payne,” he crows and receives a grey sweatshirt to the face for his trouble.

Liam shushes him. “You’ll wake them.” He tosses the sweatpants at Louis too before crouching down to scan the shoeboxes. He pulls two boxes carefully out from near the bottom. Louis fears the whole thing will topple down over Liam, but Liam is meticulous as always.

Louis makes a face when Liam presents him with a pair of mismatched shoes. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” Liam says primly.

Louis cannot be bothered to stand up from the couch, so he shifts around out of his blankets to start taking his pants off.

“Um,” Liam says, looking up at the ceiling. He makes a few aborted moves before scooting around to the kitchen.

Louis hadn’t even thought about it and now he’s embarrassed Liam. Louis swears at himself a little as he changes quickly. He doesn’t say or think anything about Liam remembering his shoe size or how he has to draw the strings of his sweatpants in ridiculously tight to get them to stay on his hips. He pulls his knitted hat and gloves from where he stuffed them into his coat and shoves them on.

Liam smiles hesitantly when Louis walks all bundled up into the kitchen. “You look like Rocky,” he says.

Louis pauses, searching his memory for someone they might know with the name. “Who?”

“You know, Rocky,” Liam says, lifting his arms up over his head and pumping them a little. “Adrian!” he whisper-shouts.

Louis shrugs at him helplessly.

“Oh. You probably haven’t seen it,” Liam says with a frown as the teapot behind him whistles. He snatches the pot so it doesn’t risk waking Harry or Niall and pours out a mug after dropping in a teabag. Louis doesn’t reach for the mug, but he knows it’s for him. Liam is taking care of him, being effortlessly thoughtful like he used to be. He wonders if Liam even realizes he’s doing it. He wonders if Liam would stop doing it if he realized.

“It’s a movie, _Rocky_ ,” he clarifies, sliding the prepared mug of tea to Louis. “Pretty good. I think it’s still at the theater.”

“I’ll check it out,” Louis says, taking a sip of the perfectly steeped tea. Louis hasn’t seen a movie in a movie theater in years. It’s a luxury he couldn’t afford. He shudders a little at the thought of doing something as simple and domestic as catching a movie with a friend.

They stand together in silence as Louis sips at his tea and Liam eats a muffin that looks more like a dirt-stained sponge than food. Liam is inordinately focused on systematically pulling small pieces of the muffin off to eat. Louis feels a little ridiculous bundled to face the cold while Liam stands dressed in a terrible baggy shirt that’s doing no favors to what Louis knows is hiding underneath. Louis knows they’ll never explore each other again. He won’t feel his way across the broadness of Liam’s shoulders down to the definition of his torso. Liam won’t learn the strength of Louis’ arms from years of manual labor and hiking across Canada, he won’t see the effects of having to skip meals when Louis couldn’t afford them.

Every time Liam brings his right hand up to his mouth, Louis gets a glimpse of a tattoo spanning the length of his forearm he has never seen before. It looks like four arrows, except they’re not really arrows, but Louis doesn’t know what to call them. They look vaguely related to the military. Louis doesn’t know what they mean and he feels like he doesn’t have the right to ask. He’s not sure he’d tell Liam what his own meant if Liam asked because it’s Louis’ life that litters his chest and arms. There are things Liam would understand, remembrances of everything Louis left behind when he left home, but other things are private. Sometimes Louis thinks he couldn’t explain them even if he tried.

“Go pee,” Liam says as soon as Louis places his empty mug on the counter.

“I don’t have to pee,” Louis snaps. He kind of has to, but he resents being told to.

“You will have to in twenty minutes when we’re running and nothing will be open and you’re not peeing on the side of the road,” Liam explains calmly.

Louis pees and rubs a toothpaste-coated finger around his mouth quickly to rid himself of whatever morning breath lingers. Liam is dressed more appropriately for the weather when Louis returns to him, in a sweatshirt emblazoned with ARMY in ugly bold letters, the hood of which is drawn up over his head. Louis tugs impulsively on the strings hanging underneath his chin and the hood draws up comically to surround Liam’s face. Liam rolls his eyes, but doesn’t loosen the strings.

Louis follows Liam’s lead around town, trying to keep up as best he can. Cardio was never his strong suit. Liam stops occasionally when he seems to notice Louis isn’t trailing him as closely as he should be, so he stops to stretch using streetlamps like he needs to and he’s not waiting for Louis to catch up. Louis would call him out for being condescending if he wasn’t grateful.

Louis’ mind races faster than his legs, questions clogging up every inch of his focus. Is Liam still mad at him, is he still mad at Liam, are they going to be friends, can they be friends, do they want to be friends. Louis is too overwhelmed, so he focuses instead on breathing in and out, calm and measured, pumping his legs to keep a steady jogging pace, staring at the hood covering the back of Liam’s head.

As he lets his mind empty, the run feels less like a chore and more like stress relief, all of his questions and worries slipping out of his body with every footfall. He doesn’t have to think about where he’s been or where he’s going or what he’s done or who he is. His only indication that the world exists or that time is passing is the steadily rising sun to his right.

His legs burn and his chest burns, but Louis likes it. He speeds up, overtaking Liam even though Louis has no idea what path they’re taking. Liam huffs out what Louis thinks is a laugh and he catches up and then some, all too easily. Liam is definitely taking it easy on him, and Louis decides that’s enough of that shit. He pushes with everything he has, but Liam is always three steps ahead. Louis wishes he could see his face because he’s sure there’s a smile there.

They run forever, far out of downtown until there are more trees than houses, until Louis finally overtakes Liam, pressing forward until his legs are threatening to fall off. He can’t hear Liam’s thundering feet anymore, so he calls out, “Giving up, Barry Allen?”

He turns, slowing to a stop, and sees Liam waiting for him, panting heavily. He tilts his head off to his right, and Louis’ eyes slide to look where he’s being directed -- the sprawling lawn that makes up the Marquette Cemetery. Louis doesn’t want to go, but Liam walks through the stone archway at the entrance without waiting for him.

“Shit shit shit,” Louis mutters, bouncing on his toes with indecision. He’s reasonably certain he could find his way home from here. He knows what’s waiting for him and he can’t avoid it forever. He doesn’t understand why Liam has brought him here.

He finds Liam where he suspects he would be, in front of Jack’s grave. It’s just a little stone in the ground, not much different from any of the other markers surrounding it. He just looks like one of a thousand others. Liam crouches down to right the Christmas wreath that had fallen over, gently knocking the snow out of its bristles and smoothing out the small American flags glued to either side.

Louis doesn’t want to get too close to it, or any of the graves. He hates this place, refused to get out of the car when he was a kid and his parents insisted on visiting his grandparents. Cemeteries are morbid and Louis hates walking on top of graves because there are dead people under his feet and he always feels like he needs to apologize.

He looks at Jack’s grave, but there’s nothing Jack about it. He doesn’t want to think about Jack as anything more than a decaying corpse in a wooden box, because that’s what he is. He wants to think about Jack as what he remembers him to be, vibrant and alive and loyal and one of Louis’ best friends.

“He didn’t like me very much,” Liam says.

“Of course he did,” Louis says immediately. Liam was part of their family. “What makes you say that?”  

“He said, _I never liked you very much, Liam_ ,” Liam states, giving Louis a look. “So. I was able to put two and two together.”

“Oh,” Louis says, but he still doesn’t get it. Jack was never exactly forthcoming with warmth, but you just had to work at cracking him open for a while. He never said a thing to Louis. “When did he say that? While we were…” Louis gestures between them, hoping Liam gets the idea.

“No, it was towards the end there. He would get drunk and angry and say all the nasty things he thought because they were true and he didn’t care if anyone got hurt.” Liam speaks with compassion, not with the anger Louis would expect someone to have if they were treated with disgust. “I guess he knew he wasn’t going to stay.”

Louis frowns at him. “Towards the end of what?”

Liam stills and sighs before scrubbing at his face with his hands. “Nobody told you,” he mumbles, like he’s disappointed.

He wishes Liam would just say it, but he doesn’t. Louis looks between him and the gravestone before he notices the death date. December 1975. December 1975? The war ended April 1975. Louis knows because he glued himself to the news, looking for any indication that he could come home.

He would lie awake at night fantasizing about what it would be like, even though he was convinced he would never actually make it back. He had thought it was going to be easier than this, he had thought he could slide back into the hole he left, fall back into the life he was leaving with the people he loved. He didn’t think it would be this hard. He had spent all of his time picturing his life as it was, but nothing is the same. Louis doesn’t know if he wants this life.

“He wasn’t the same when he came back,” Liam explains, his voice hollow. “Violent. Haunted. He saw things and did things, but he couldn’t leave it behind. So he ended it.”

For a moment he refuses to believe Jack could have been that way. Jack was one of his best friends, not dangerous or unhinged and Louis resents the implication. But the fact of the matter is, Liam knows better and Louis doesn’t because Liam was there with him. And Louis sure has accused Liam of being the same way he’s described Jack, and it’s even more unfathomable that his Liam, the sweet one who loved life and hated conflict, could become dangerous and unhinged. He keeps telling himself Liam doesn’t have any reason to lie. So if it’s not a lie, then Louis is pissed.

“Why the fuck is everyone going around pretending like he’s a war hero?” Louis says.

Liam shrugs. “It’s easier that way.”

Louis barks a bitter laugh. Nobody wants to say the words because they’re not nice and clean. Nobody wants to say Jack killed himself. Nobody wants to recognize the consequences of war. Nobody wants to say he killed people and that killed him. Nobody wants to admit Jack was different, Liam is different, Niall is different. Nobody wants to talk about how you can’t sneak up on Liam without worrying he’s going to lash out. Nobody wants to talk about how Niall buries everything that hurts so deep he can pretend it doesn’t exist.

The war stole everything from Louis when he wasn’t looking.

He wants to be mad at something, he wants to hold someone responsible. He wants to be mad at Liam. Louis told him this was going to happen. Not exactly this, sure, but war was going to fuck everything up, Louis knew it for a fact. That’s why they had to go, so the war didn’t take them and change them into something irreparable and dangerous.

He wants to shout at Liam, _what did you expect was going to happen_? _Did you think this was going to be easy_? _Did you think you weren’t doing anything wrong_? That’s why Jack couldn’t take it, he knew he was doing something wrong, but he did it anyway.

Jack had a choice. Jack enlisted. Jack listened to all the things Louis had said and decided to go to fucking war anyway. Same as Liam. Liam had said he was always listening to Louis but at the one time in his life when Liam needed to listen the most, he wouldn’t. And he suffered for it. Louis doesn’t want to say Liam deserves it. But...

“I tried so hard to help him,” Liam says quietly. “Nobody understood what he was going through, why he wouldn’t just snap out of it. They just kept telling him, you’re home and you’re safe, so stop worrying. Stop thinking about it.  But nothing stops the nightmares.”

Louis can picture Jack breaking down under the weight of nightmares of war. The doctor’s words from last night come back to him. _You dream to escape, but the war invades your dream and you wake up screaming. The dream is peaceful. Reality is the nightmare._

Liam’s eyes turn wide and wet to stare at Louis like he’s pleading with him. “I tried so hard, I promise. I wanted to save him, but I couldn’t.”

Liam’s words crack Louis’ wall of anger. He should have known Liam would try to help; Liam’s got to be the hero. He should have known that Liam would take this as a personal failure, that he couldn’t save a life. Liam brought Louis here to apologize, to make sure Louis knows Liam did everything in his power to save Louis’ friend.

“It’s not your fault,” Louis says gently, but Liam just shakes his head.

“He wouldn’t talk to me, except when he got scared,” he continues, his voice growing thick as he wipes at his eyes before tears can fall from them. “He would talk about re-enlisting because he didn’t belong at home. He hated being a soldier, but that’s what he was. He said he belonged there, that he deserved to go back, as punishment for the things he’d done.”

Louis reaches for him on instinct, but Liam shifts, not moving away from Louis, but making his hesitation known.

Liam would sometimes do that when Louis first met him. It was like he was unsure if he deserved that kind of attention. When Louis would talk to him or poke at him or look at him, Liam always seemed to be on the brink of asking Louis why he wanted to do that kind of thing. It was pretty simple for Louis. He looked at Liam and saw someone he could help, someone he could make happier. And then, in a stunningly short amount of time, someone he could love.

He looks at this Liam, who seems as much of a stranger now as he was on his sixteenth birthday, and he still sees someone he can help. It seems Louis has his work cut out for himself again.

Louis’ brain shutters to a halt. He isn’t sure when he decided he had forgiven Liam. Maybe he hasn’t forgiven him, but he thinks he’s gotten to a point where he can move past it. Liam can’t take back his lies and he can’t take back his service. It is what it is.

Liam went to war in spite of every warning he was given. Louis knew better and he tried to tell Liam, but this was something Liam needed to see for himself. Liam knows better now too, Louis is sure Liam knows he made the wrong decision. Louis can’t be angry at him because he pities him. And Louis knows he can fix him.

“Do you--are _you_ okay?” Louis asks carefully. “Do you feel--”

“No,” Liam interrupts, shaking his head furiously. “I’m not like that. I’m not like him.”

“It’s okay if you are,” Louis says, although he’s really not sure if that’s true. If Jack was violent and haunted, Liam very well could be too. Louis can handle anything, but he still doesn’t know if he wants his family to.

“Well, I’m not,” Liam says shortly, walling up defensively. He puts some distance between himself and Jack, shuffling back towards the road. “I’m fine.”

“We could talk,” Louis offers.

“Jack hit Eleanor,” Liam says, but then pauses, looking like he didn’t want to say that. But he did say it and he can’t take it back, so Louis waits for his explanation because he doesn’t understand how that could happen. “It was an accident and he was having a nightmare and he was screaming and when she tried to wake him up.” Liam trails off, his face bunching in disgust. “But he did it and I would never. I could never. I’m not like that.”

Violent and haunted, Liam had said. Everything Eleanor said made sense now--Louis hadn’t understood what kind of hurt she was feeling. This has to have been worse for her, sending him off to war and getting him back, only to realize it wasn’t really her brother she was getting back. Louis wonders if she does consider him as having died in the war, since the brother she knew never came back. That must be why it’s easier for everyone to lie. The Jack that killed himself was a Jack no one knew.

“Okay,” Louis says.

Liam stands staring at the manmade lake on the other side of the lawn where Louis vaguely remembers his grandparents are buried, not that Liam knows that. His jaw is locked and the fingers of his right hand lightly tap out an anxious rhythm on his leg. He doesn’t want to be here either. Louis wishes he could do something to break the tension, find a way to crack a joke or go for a jab to Liam’s stomach just to get him laughing and not pretending like he isn’t crying. Louis can’t make a joke, not here at least, and now he knows he can’t touch Liam. Louis has to find a new way to work with him.

“Breakfast,” Louis says instead, and it’s not a suggestion.

“Where?”

“Wherever you want.”

Liam opens his mouth like he’s going to say something but then closes it like he thought better of it. He nods instead and takes off for the archway, mercifully at a walk. Louis doesn’t bid Jack goodbye because he doesn’t much see the point. He keeps his head down and maneuvers carefully around the rest of the graves where Liam walks untroubled by his surroundings.

They meander their way slowly back downtown, the walk feeling like it takes hours. The sun is up and shining, like it’s going to promise warmth, but it doesn’t. The city comes alive around them, people bustling off to work and Louis wonders for one brief moment how he’s going to get a job to support himself and his family if he’s technically a fugitive. He doesn’t know how much support he’ll find in town, especially if people feel about him the way Keating does.

He pushes that thought away and listens because Liam is talking. Louis really does need to listen because Liam is answering Louis’ question about how Liam became a police officer. Liam talks about the job with passion, talking about how he is more interested in making a difference than enforcing the law. He talks about the titular Paddy of Paddy’s House of Patties, how he mentored Liam before retiring, how Liam thinks of him as more like a father than his actual one. Louis gets that; Paddy sounds encouraging in the way that Liam needs.

He talks about his impending promotion, and Louis is surprised that he feels proud of Liam. The police seems like an extension of the army, which causes distrust to stir within Louis, but he also likes to see that Liam is succeeding. He likes to see that people look at Liam the way Louis does and sees his potential.

“I’m proud of you,” Louis says because part of his plan to fix Liam involves providing him support when he’s done something good. Liam has done too many bad things and Louis wants him to focus on the good. “You deserve it. I know I don’t really know much about what you’ve done, but I know you deserve it.”

Liam ducks his head and mumbles his thanks. He seems to have run out of things to say then and they fall into silence. It’s a comfortable silence, companionable, like they can walk together and not expect anything of each other.

Liam ends up taking him to a donut shop of all places, and Louis is only somewhat surprised to see Liam is greeted brightly by name by the young lady behind the counter.

“I didn’t expect to see you today,” the lady says, smiling and leaning towards him, before her eyes settle with surprise on Louis. She doesn’t linger long on Louis, turning her focus back to Liam. Louis doesn’t blame her, but he also doesn’t like the way she focuses on him. “Your usual?” she asks.

Louis stands awkwardly behind Liam as he sputters and shakes his head, red-cheeked. “I’ll have a cup of coffee and a glazed donut, I think,” Louis says before Liam hurts himself thinking too hard, raising an eyebrow at Liam. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Liam says, staring down the choices with a look too serious for donut selection. Louis is handed a styrene cup to pour his own coffee from the pot on the edge of the counter. He shuffles over, but keeps a close eye on Liam.

“What do you usually have out of the dozen?” she asks. A dozen donuts? Liam’s standing order is a dozen donuts? For himself? Even Louis thinks that’s a little much.

“I don’t usually eat one,” Liam admits.

“You’ve never had one of my donuts?” Her eyebrows quirk up and she leans closer. If she goes any further, she’s likely to fall over the counter.

Louis chokes a little on his sip of coffee, waving his hands to indicate he’s fine when Liam turns to him, looking mildly panicked.

“I’ll take a glazed as well, thank you, Beth,” Liam finally decides. Everything about this encounter is painful.

When he fishes his wallet from a pocket in his sweatpants, Beth says, “On the house. For our most loyal customer.” She wraps the pair of glazed donuts in their own plastic sheets to hand them both to Liam before sending them on their way with a “See you tomorrow, Liam.”

“She _likes_ you,” Louis says as soon as they exit the store, attempting to keep his voice from sounding grumpy. He sips at his coffee to resist the urge to say something else.

“No, she doesn’t,” Liam says. Louis doesn’t think Liam’s face could get any redder, but it does, and Louis feels an uninvited flash of jealousy. He doesn’t know if Liam likes her back, has any interest in girls at all. They never really talked about it when they were together, it was always enough that Liam was only interested in Louis.

“She was pretty friendly.”

“Just because people are friendly doesn’t mean they like you. Sometimes people are just nice,” Liam says with narrowed eyes. “You should try it sometime.”

Louis clutches at his chest. “That cuts deep.” He snatches his donut from Liam and stuffs too much of it into his mouth. It’s a really good donut, damn it all. “You’ve never had one of her donuts?” Louis says, but that’s not what comes out around the donut in his mouth.

“Use your words,” Liam says mildly.

Louis almost huffs a laugh, but he’s worried he would choke. He swallows what he can and repeats the question.

“No,” Liam answers.

“Donuts means sex,” Louis clarifies, because Liam already answered the literal question in the shop where apparently Liam orders a dozen donuts every day and then never eats any of them.

Liam makes a strained smile. “I know,” he says and doesn’t elaborate as he plucks away a piece of the donut to eat.

Louis can tell the exact moment when Liam decides he loves the donut. He chews for a moment and then his eyebrows raise and he looks down at the rest of the donut with surprise, like he’s delighted there’s more of it. The look cracks open something warm in Louis’ chest and he wants to hide his face until the look goes away. Louis sips at his coffee instead as Liam licks the glaze off his fingers.

“Was there -- are you seeing anyone?” Louis asks hesitantly, still unable to stop fixating on people offering Liam donuts. Liam hasn’t said anything at all. Louis knows Harry is single and looking and Niall is single and not and Zayn is married, but Liam is a giant question mark. It’s definitely none of Louis’ business, but Louis has never been good at minding his business.

Liam stays quiet for a while, so quiet Louis thinks he’s crossed a line before he says, “I dated Sophia Smith from school for a couple of months after I came back.”

“Yeah, I bet that made your mom happy,” Louis says darkly. He recognizes the name, he’d never forget the name or any part of the night Louis met Liam’s parents. And how embarrassed he was when he thought Liam was ashamed of him, how unsupportive Liam’s parents were, how much more Louis understood Liam afterwards.

“She was. I wasn’t,” Liam says shortly.

“Why not?”

Louis kind of wants to hear Liam say it. He wants the reason to be _because she wasn’t you_. It’s not that he wants Liam to have been alone. But Louis likes the idea of ruining Liam for other people, he likes the idea that Liam belongs to him. Belonged to him.

“I didn’t love her,” Liam says instead.

Louis nods even though Liam isn’t looking at him. “Anyone else?” he asks because his curiosity is bordering on masochistic at this point.

“No,” Liam says quickly, his face pinched with irritation. “I’m a police officer and this is a small town, it’s not like I could just date the people I wanted to date.”

Liam says it so nicely, just talks around what he means. _It’s not safe to go out and fuck other men._ Louis’ done his fair share of that because he was no one in Canada, his actions meant nothing to other people.

Louis stops short when he realizes they’re standing next to the movie theater. It is indeed still playing _Rocky_ and there’s a matinee in half an hour. Louis feels disgusting and sweaty and exhausted, but he doesn’t want to go home. He doesn’t really know what he wants, but he knows he doesn’t want to leave Liam right now.

Louis throws a questioning look to Liam, who gives a smile in return, and the next thing Louis knows they’re sitting in a dark theater together, alone because nobody else seems keen to go to a movie at 10 am on a Wednesday.

Louis has been to the movies exactly three times with Liam. The first time was a few weeks after they met and Liam had insisted on paying for the two of them with some money he had gotten from his sister for his birthday. They went to see a Lee Marvin thriller Louis can’t even remember the name of, but Louis remembers leaning up against Liam to whisper terrible jokes about the movie at him while Liam shifted anxiously between looking scandalized that Louis was talking during a movie while other people were around and laughing at Louis’ jokes.

Louis definitely doesn’t remember the other two movies either because he spent most of them trying to get Liam to kiss him in the dark where they were seated in the back row, likely to get caught by an usher at any moment. Louis thought it was exhilarating and Liam thought it was stressful, crowing if Louis wanted to make out, they could have stayed home and saved each other the trouble of Liam borrowing his dad’s truck so they could go out and pay for a movie they weren’t going to pay attention to anyway.

This time is different. They don’t lean against each other. Louis throws his legs up on the seat in front of him and Liam doesn’t swat at him. They don’t share a drink or a bag of popcorn. They don’t whisper or interact. They just sit next to each other. They don’t end up alone, though, three other couples shuffle in before the lights dim all the way.

Louis ends up watching Liam watch the movie for most of it. He tries to be subtle about it, looking out of the corner of his eye, but mostly he has his face turned to Liam. Liam doesn’t seem to notice it, spending most of the movie hunched forward with his full attention on the meathead mumbling his way through boxing training and beating the shit out of frozen cows.

The bullshit fact of the matter is, Rocky doesn’t even win. He literally can’t understand why Liam likes it so much, but Liam is buzzing even after they walk out of the theatre, reenacting a few of his favorite bits right there on the sidewalk. He makes little dodges and jabs to the open air, movements practiced and smooth, and Louis wonders if he still boxes.

“You get it now,” Liam says suddenly.

“What?” Louis asks,

“What I said this morning.” Liam pumps his hands in the air again, just like Rocky does for some unexplained reason at the top of a staircase.

Louis glances down at his borrowed grey sweatpants and sweatshirt. He supposes he does look a little like Rocky.

“I get it,” he confirms. Louis pumps his hands in the air as well, singing what little he can remember of the song playing in the background, and then doing a few ridiculous boxing moves of his own.

Liam’s face splits open with laughter, which only serves to spur Louis on. Louis jumps a little on his feet, mocking a boxer’s warm up, and Liam’s eyes start to disappear as his smile pushes his cheeks higher and higher. It’s the first time in seven years Louis has seen this amount of delight from Liam directed at Louis and Louis eats it up. Liam is smiling and laughing, so Louis is helping already.

“Lunch?” Liam says after Louis’ charade is finished. Louis vigorously agrees. And then he just can’t help himself.

“Here’s the problem, though, Rocky doesn’t even win,” Louis complains as they start to walk. “We go through all of that and he doesn’t even have the courtesy to fucking _win_.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“What?” Louis squawks. “Yes, it is. You get your hopes up, he trains the whole film, they tease us the whole fucking film, and then they let us down at the last second. What’s the point? Why bother?”

“It’s not about winning,” Liam says, his words pouring out of him like he’s given the movie a fair amount of thought. “It’s about doing the best he can despite the odds. Nobody believed in him, but he did it anyway. He went fifteen rounds with Apollo Creed and he’s a nobody from nowhere. He didn’t have to win the match in order to _win_.”

Louis concedes the point, realizing maybe Liam identifies a little too closely with him. Liam went fifteen rounds with the army or the Viet Cong or whoever and even though he came out of it worse for wear, bruised and bleeding and broken, at least he came out of it. He didn’t win, but at least he survived.

Louis doesn’t know how they do it, but they spend the entire day together. They eat together at Paddy’s, despite Louis’ hesitation of spending more time in a place surrounded by cops. Harry and Niall are there too, both completely baffled at the fact that not only are Louis and Liam there, but they arrived together.

The four of them sit together and chat easily about nothing at all. Louis talks about how Phoebe refuses to eat peas now and says they’re evil. Liam tells them about Louis’ rant about _Rocky_. Harry talks about one of his coworkers complaining that Harry takes too long to say what he needs to on the dispatch, so Harry started talking even slower on the less vital calls. Niall goes on about wishing he could find a way to attach a broom to his wheelchair so he can sweep the floor at the bar. Harry gets this look on his face like he’s actually considering the mechanics of creating a wheelchair broom before Niall insists that Harry isn’t allowed to make one.

Sometimes Liam will get caught up in a conversation with just Niall or Harry, putting all his focus on them and none of his focus on Louis. Louis fights the urge to steal it back from them, to prove he is perfectly capable of laughing about whoever Ed is right along with Liam and Harry, or whatever else private thing from their lives that Louis has missed. Louis is willing to learn.

Without the tension stunting conversation like last night, Louis feels happier than he has in a while. If he’s going on a crusade to put things back the way they were before he left, this lunch feels like a step in the right direction. Liam was right, it does help to know that someone else feels the same way he does. Louis feels like Liam has his back. Every time Louis makes Liam laugh so hard his eyes disappear under his cheeks, it feels like Louis has made measurable progress. He only wishes Zayn were here. And Jack.

Louis follows Liam after lunch is over, even though Liam didn’t extend an invitation for Louis to join him. Their being together feels implicit now and Liam doesn’t say anything. He follows him the couple of blocks to Harry and Niall’s place where they collect their clothes and get in Liam’s truck.

Louis spends all afternoon poking around Liam’s house. He bought a house -- with his parents’ help -- like an actual grownup, even though the house itself isn’t much bigger than Harry and Niall’s apartment. Liam’s house looks like Liam’s room in his parents’ house used to. Sparsely decorated, more of a living quarters and less like a home. There aren’t pictures or decorations for the sake of decorations, the only things around are functional. He doesn’t even have a piano. Nothing about this place says _Liam_.

He wonders if Liam feels comfortable here or if this doesn’t feel like a home to Liam. Louis has spent the last seven years without a home and he’s not sure if he’s comforted or upset by the fact that Liam seems to have done the same thing. The most personal part of the house is the one wall in his living room where plaques and framed awards are carefully suspended. His life’s achievements are out there for everyone to see, like they’re the only things that matter to him when Louis knows that’s not at all the truth. Liam should feel proud of the things he’s done, but he shouldn’t be defined only by the things he’s done.

When they talk, Liam never talks about the war. They talk about their lives, but never about their love. Liam tells Louis stories about Louis’ family that make Louis want to cry for having missed it. Louis tells him about his favorite city in Canada, but never about how hard it was to live alone and travel alone. Louis had help where he could find it, plenty of kindness from supporters who welcomed American dodgers with warmth and compassion. He is happy to tell their stories. He doesn’t talk about the bad days and he doesn’t think about the bad days. Louis would edge too close to saying something he didn’t want Liam to know about and he’d swiftly change the subject. Liam probably notices but doesn’t say anything, because Louis knows he’s doing the same thing.

Louis keeps Liam’s clothes on instead of changing into his own because he finds them big and comfortable and he knows that for all the complaining he used to do, Liam liked it when Louis stole his clothes. After Liam cooks him dinner -- burgers that Louis watched a shivering but stubborn Liam make on the grill outside -- they collapse onto the couch and Louis pushes them to reminisce about their lives together. If Liam could remember who he was before he went to war, Liam could find that person again and be that person again. Liam wouldn’t have to be haunted. Liam doesn’t like to look at him when they talk about the past. He studies his shirt or watches the fan on his ceiling, even though it isn’t moving.

“Remember when we went to that Rolling Stones concert? When was it?” Louis asks.

“November 1969,” Liam provides, constant as ever.

“Right, we drove all day--”

“Seven hours to Chicago,” Liam laces in, less like an interruption, more like he’s telling the story with Louis. It actually feels like they’ve done this before, and perhaps they had to Niall and Zayn when they got back.

“--in your dad’s shitty pickup truck--”

“That we didn’t even think would make it.”

“--and Harry insisted on sitting in the truck bed for as long as possible.” Louis tries to ignore the familiar tug on his stomach their banter gives, the same one he’s had all day, the same one that makes Louis want to do things he shouldn’t.

“Until it started raining and we convinced him to come inside,” Liam says, a smile warming his face as he finally pulls his eyes from the ceiling and places them on Louis.

“You convinced him to come inside,” Louis interjects, because it’s important that Liam remember he’s not so much of an asshole as Louis is. “I laughed at him.”

“And he wedged in between us.”

“Yes, he said, _no funny business, not while I’m around_.” Louis wags a little finger in his impression of petulant Harry and that gets a laugh out of Liam.

“And you guys told me that you had tickets,” Liam says, the complaint sounding familiar on his lips, probably from the seven hour ride home he’d spent complaining about it.

“No, we didn’t say that,” Louis says, just like he said back then, “we just said we were going to the concert.”

Liam narrows his eyes. “I’m pretty sure you said we had tickets.”

“And Harry and I snuck in through a service door and you pouted in the truck all night.”

“I wasn’t about to get in trouble.”

“Harry and I didn’t get in trouble,” Louis says, which he knows he’s said before because Liam usually grouses about Harry and Louis being Harry and Louis. Louis had never understood that, because they were Liam and Louis. Liam and Louis could have done anything.

“You just left me there in the truck, I felt so betrayed,” Liam says with all the cadence of a joke, but it doesn’t fall like a joke. The smile slips from Louis’ face even though he doesn’t want it to. Liam’s smile dims a little like he understands what he’s said as well. “You got me a shirt to apologize. I hope you didn’t steal it.”

“I definitely paid for that, you asshole,” Louis jokes and they lapse into silence.

They don’t need to finish the story. They don’t talk about the reason Harry and Louis insisted on going to the concert in the first place, which was to escape how the whole town was glued to the televisions and the newspapers, soaking up all of the information possible on the massacres at My Lai, which had finally come to light. Nobody in town had even seemed mad about it, they just seemed morbidly fascinated by the pictures and the statistics.

They don’t say that two weeks later, just days after Thanksgiving, when everything was perfect and easy, their draft notices came in. And it was statistics all over again, how they both could have been called in the same lottery, how the United States Army wanted to damn them both in one go.

“I still have it,” Liam says quietly. “Somewhere. Couldn’t get rid of it.”

“I would have been mad if you had. Our final hurrah.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Liam says, even quieter, so quiet Louis’ not sure he even said it. But he did, Louis knows because Liam’s looking at him with hesitation and with hope.

Louis doesn’t know if he can fall in love with this Liam, the one that doesn’t belong to him. Louis doesn’t know who he is or what he’s been through, even though Liam has spent the whole day telling him who he has become.

Louis thinks he sees his Liam sometimes, the one who didn’t know what to do with himself until Louis came around, the one who hung on Louis’ every word, the one who looked so happy when Louis was a big part of his life. Louis thinks he could get that back and that they’d both be happier that way, if things went back to the way they were. Louis can take care of him again, put him back together. He’s been thinking this all day, but now he knows Liam has been thinking it too.

Louis reaches a hand out and runs a few fingers softly down Liam’s cheek to test it out. Liam says nothing and does nothing, which doesn’t seem very encouraging. He’s not pulling away though, just continuing to stare at Louis with the same look. So Louis leans further over the gulf of space between them on the couch and kisses him.

Louis kisses him even though Liam doesn't kiss him back, which makes him kiss harder until Louis feels like he's doing all the work for no reward. He pulls away from Liam to look at his face. Liam looks paralyzed with shock and a little bit of awe, so that's business as usual as far as kissing Liam is concerned.

He knows Liam is trying to make a decision, so Louis makes it for him. He kisses him again, insistently this time, swiping a tongue to Liam's lips, which finally gets him to part them and Liam starts kissing back. Liam kisses heated and desperately, quickly lacing fingers into Louis' hair. Louis throws a leg up over Liam's lap and slides onto him, but he's less smooth than he wants to be, knocking his face accidentally against Liam's when he won't stop kissing him. Louis snorts a little at himself before rolling his hips down to make up for it.

Liam shudders and pulls away then, as best he can being sandwiched between the couch and Louis. “I don't,” he says and cuts himself off.

“Hey,” Louis says gently. “Let me take care of you.”

Liam furrows his brows as he looks up at Louis like he's trying to figure him out. Louis doesn't want him thinking at all, so he kisses Liam's brows and his nose and his cheek before nipping at his bottom lip. He jumps a little when Liam's arms loop under his legs and he jumps a lot when Liam hauls them both up off the couch.

Louis squawks an undignified noise as he clings his arms and his legs around Liam, feeling like a koala hugging a tree. Liam kisses him first, walking slowly across the room and into what Louis had earlier suspected was his bedroom. The more Liam kisses him, the more Liam takes control, the more Louis works to keep up with what Liam wants from him. This isn't exactly what Louis had in mind when he said he wanted to take care of Liam, but Louis doesn't mind if it makes Liam act like he wants this.

Liam presses Louis up against the wall with a little too much force and the breath is knocked from him, a move reminiscent of Louis’ recent arrest. Louis gasps for a breath, which turns into a hiss of pain when Liam grabs at his hips a little too roughly. In the next second, Louis’ feet find the floor and Liam shoots across the room, his back turned to Louis.

Louis huffs another breath at him, this one of impatience, and he stalks over to Liam until he’s up in his face. It’s fine, it was a little rough, but Louis was unprepared. He can handle it. He doesn’t want Liam to close up when Louis’ about to crack him back open.

“I’m sorry,” Liam mumbles and Louis kisses him before he can say anything else stupid. Liam has lost his heat, though, like he’s kissing out of obligation, which irritates Louis. Louis is _trying_. Louis is giving him everything he has and he wants Liam to respect him enough to do the same. Liam seems scared, but he doesn’t have to be. He said he wasn’t violent, he wasn’t like that, and Louis thinks he can trust him. Louis wants his trust as well and to let Liam know that if he gets carried away, Louis will bring him back. Louis will remind him how to be gentle and intimate.

He tugs at Liam’s shirt, pulling it swiftly up over his head and tossing it behind him. He rests his hands on Liam’s hips and gently guides him backwards until he drops down onto his bed. Louis doesn’t look at Liam’s face as he patiently removes his shoes and smelly socks and sweatpants, but he knows Liam is frowning from his loose posture and slumped shoulders.

When he lays Liam out on his bed and settles over him, Liam keeps his eyes on the neck of Louis’ borrowed grey sweatshirt and keeps his hands fisted in his sheets. Louis doesn’t have to reach down to check that Liam wants this. He used to do this when they were kids too, but it wasn’t out of fear of hurting Louis; it was because he didn’t want to do something wrong.

“You can touch me, Liam,” he says in between mouthing over the birthmark on Liam’s throat, an old favorite. “I won’t break.”

Louis bites a little and Liam’s hands fly to Louis’ hips, his fingers tracing lightly as if to apologize for the harm they’ve caused. Louis presses his thanks into Liam’s neck and then into his collarbones, his mouth trailing a path to end on the scar marking Liam’s right shoulder that Louis has never seen. It’s an ugly scar, not thin and clean, but puckering, lumpy, like there wasn’t enough time to stitch it together neatly. Louis kisses the scar like he can make it better.

Liam’s hand finds the side of Louis’ face and pulls him up before Louis has deemed his ministrations done. He thinks he sees Liam is shaking his head at him, like he doesn’t think Louis can make it better or he doesn’t _want_ Louis to make it better. Louis frowns at him because he wants to claim this part of Liam as much as he wants to claim the rest of him. He wants to show Liam that he doesn’t care if there are parts of him that aren’t perfect, that he doesn’t care if his body will carry visible mementos of war, reminders of the things Liam has done and the things Liam has seen.

Liam guides their lips together instead, kissing slow and deep the way Louis has been waiting for. Louis thinks Liam must not be ready for Louis to kiss his scar better, or he thinks Liam might be ashamed of it. Louis files that away to fix in the future. Louis’ stomach flutters now that he realizes he and Liam could have a future.

Liam is relatively quiet the whole time but for his shuddering breath and the noises he can’t seem to stop from slipping past the tight seam of his lips. Louis doesn’t stop kissing him everywhere and whispering praise into his skin, even as he undresses slowly with Liam’s help, even as he prepares himself. Liam doesn’t move his hands from Louis’ hips until he’s inside Louis, but it’s to brush Louis’ hair back from his eyes, cup his face, and kiss him deep as he moves his hips up to meet Louis.

Every time Liam’s eyes close in pleasure, he wrenches them back as if he can’t stand to stop looking up at Louis for even a moment. Louis thinks Liam gets it now, that Louis trusts him and that Liam doesn’t have to worry. Louis kisses the tears that escape from Liam’s eyes as they breathe through the aftershocks together.

When Louis moves to find something to clean themselves up, Liam grips his hips again, panic in his eyes like he thinks Louis won’t come back. Louis can’t help but feel pleased and wanted, and as much as he wants to clean himself off, he doesn’t want to leave Liam. He doesn’t want Liam to think for one moment that Louis doesn’t want him too.

Louis slides off of him, pressing at his shoulder until Liam rolls over and Louis can sidle up behind him to wrap as much of his arms as he can around Liam’s broad torso. Liam laces his fingers in Louis’ and tugs, like it’s possible to hold Louis closer to him than he already is. It’s not.

Liam kisses Louis’ fingers gently before he falls asleep. Louis remembers what a challenge it was to get Liam to show even the smallest displays of affection in the beginning. Louis worked so hard to peel back the layers of Liam’s discomfort, mostly because Louis wouldn’t have survived if he wasn’t allowed to touch him. Louis would kiss his cheek because he wasn’t allowed to kiss his mouth. He kept his hands on Liam constantly, like a prelude, like Louis was promising him, _we could have every inch of each other if you fell in love with me_.

He doesn’t want Liam’s reality to become a nightmare. Louis sees he has his work cut out for him to mend all the places where Liam has broken, but he feels like this is a good start.

\--


	14. February 15, 1974

_(Born in the USA - Bruce Springsteen)_

* * *

_February 15, 1974_

Liam is glad it's Zayn waiting for him at the bus station and not his parents. He's glad to see a friendly face here where Louis left him, where Liam left home just over four years ago. He feels relief flood through him at the sight of Zayn, leaning up against his car and absently fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.

Liam expects Zayn to look different, and he does, but it still surprises him. He knows he wasn’t going to find his Zayn, but the shift to an older Zayn feels sudden, not gradual like it would have been if Liam was here watching it happen. Zayn's leaner and his face is sharper -- obviously having lost the smooth curves of youth -- even underneath the beard he sports. He looks like a grown up, though probably because he is one. Liam's never thought of himself as a grown up, but he guesses he is one as well.

Zayn glances up and when he sees Liam his face melts into a soft smile. His smiles aren't blinding like Niall's or contagious like Harry's. Zayn's smiles come without expectation and Liam finds comfort in it.

“Hey, Liam,” he says, voice as quiet as his smile. He sees Zayn's eyes rake over him, taking in who Liam is now, and Liam can't blame him.

He's surprised himself looking in the mirror a few times, finding big broad shoulders and strong arms and a rounder face. He got his hair buzzed one last time before coming home because for some reason it felt like a fresh start.

“Let's get you home,” Zayn says as he reaches for Liam's nearly empty duffle bag -- he didn't really have anything he wanted to take with him -- to toss it in the back seat. Liam watches him nestle in the duffle on top of a few toys next to a booster seat.

“Did you and Perrie have a kid?” Liam asks, frowning up at him. The last he'd heard from Zayn, he was six months from getting married to a girl Liam had never met.

Zayn's smile falters. “You didn't get my letters?”

“I guess I was a little hard to reach,” Liam says with a little shrug.

He wonders where the letters have gone, if they’re sitting in a giant room full of undelivered correspondence waiting to be sorted through. He hopes he didn’t get them because of a backlog or because it was hard to reach him on the front lines. He doesn’t want to think his family’s correspondence has been purposefully kept from him. He wonders if the army will send the letters to him now that he’s gone or if they’ll consider it a lost cause and burn them all. He would like to have them, if only so he can study up on everyone’s lives to figure out how to talk to them.

Then he wonders what they think that Liam never sent any letters back. If he could get away with claiming the army lost them, when in reality, Liam didn’t want to talk to anyone.

“Congratulations,” Liam says warmly, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

“Thanks, man.” Zayn gets into the car and waits for Liam to settle into his seat before reaching over and pulling the glove box open. He pulls out a handful of Polaroids and hands them to Liam. “Her name's Josie, Josephine after Perrie's grandmother. She's four months.”

She's a gorgeous baby, dark hair dusting her head, her bright eyes not quite able to understand looking at a camera. Of the pictures of Josie, half are with Perrie in them, looking soft and happy holding her or playing on the floor. There are two with Zayn, his face basically overcome with a bliss Liam's never seen on him.

“Harry got a little crazy with that Polaroid camera for the first couple months,” Zayn says, somehow sheepish at the amount of pictures, but Liam loves them all.

“She's so beautiful, Zayn,” Liam says, “beautiful family.”

“Thanks,” Zayn says with a quiet pride.

Liam keeps flipping through the pictures, mesmerized by the life Zayn's built in his absence. He can't even begin to know how to ask him about it, he doesn't know how to assimilate himself back into Zayn's life. Zayn doesn't press it though, another reason Liam's grateful for him. And Liam is so happy, so stupidly happy to see Zayn this happy. Zayn has everything he deserves.

“I should probably warn you there's a party at your house,” Zayn says.

Liam doesn't want that, he's damn terrified of being thrown back in and he doesn't know what to do. He can't do it, the thought of it pushes anxiety through his whole body, clenching his stomach and stiffening his lungs. He's faced death for four straight years, but the thought of looking at everyone he's grown up with all at once scares the shit out of him.

Something of that must read on Liam's face, because Zayn mutters to himself, “Perrie is going to kill me.”

After about a minute, he turns left instead of heading straight, which would lead them home. Liam doesn't have it in him to ask where they're going, he just trusts Zayn to lead him where they need to go.  

Where they need to go is a Kentucky Fried Chicken, and Liam laughs as Zayn pulls into a parking space.

“Are you hungry?” Zayn asks.

“Starving,” Liam says, which isn't true because his stomach is still in knots, but he's desperate for a reprieve.

The place is deserted because apparently nobody else needs fried chicken at three in the afternoon. They split a giant bucket of fried chicken between the two of them, sliding into a booth near the window. Liam had thought he wasn’t hungry, but he devours two thighs and a leg in about two minutes. Zayn watches him, amused.

“God, I don’t miss c-rats,” Liam says, his mouth full. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Yeah, it’s all right,” Zayn laughs.

“No, Zayn,” Liam says earnestly, setting his eyes comically wide. “This is the best.”

Zayn nods in concession. “They're the best.”

Liam asks him questions about Josie and Perrie, anxious to keep the conversation off his own life. Zayn seems happy to let Liam lead where he wants the conversation to go without contributing much himself.

He tells a good story about Harry turning slightly insane while helping plan Zayn's wedding. When the day came, Harry was too busy fussing about the flowers and the reception and Zayn's tuxedo to realize just minutes before the ceremony was due to start that he'd forgotten the rings back at his apartment. Niall let Harry almost dissolve into hysterics before letting him know he saw the rings and picked them up himself. He has Liam clutching his side with laughter with his impression of Harry's sputtering face. It's all just like them, Liam pictures it perfectly and for the first time he is upset he wasn't home.

“I'm sorry I missed the wedding. And everything, I guess,” Liam says.

“You didn't have a choice,” Zayn answers, waving off the apology.

“But I did have a choice,” Liam mumbles. He could have ended his first tour and have been home in time. He could have laughed straight at Harry's face and he could have stood beside Zayn on the two most important days of his life and he could have held Josie after she was born. He could have just been there.

Zayn holds his hand out on the table for him and Liam slides his hand to it slowly. Zayn squeezes briefly and says, “Listen to me, Liam. You don't owe anyone an explanation about anything. You don't have to tell us why you went or why you stayed or what you did or why you came home. Okay?”

That doesn't feel as easy as Zayn makes it out to be. He's just sure people are going to want a piece of him and he knows he can't handle disappointing everyone. He only knows how to keep to himself when no one wants anything from him.

“We do have to go to your house at some point,” Zayn says. “Harry and Niall will be there.”

He doesn’t say Louis is going to be there. He doesn’t need to. Liam knows, even though they never talked about it, Louis is never coming home.

“Are you sure we can't hide here?” Liam looks to the employee standing by the register and the guy is watching the two of them sit with a bucket between them and their hands tied together.

“If you hide here, they might put you to work.”

“Well, I am recently unemployed,” Liam says, but takes his hand from Zayn's and scoots out of the booth anyway.

Liam asks if they can turn the radio on in the car. He doesn't know a lot of the songs, but he taps his hands on his thighs along to the beat. He knows he could be taking this time to socialize, but he's enjoying doing nothing and saying nothing while he can.

What seems like a hundred cars are parked on Liam's street and there are three balloons -- red, white, and blue -- tied to his mailbox. Zayn parks behind Liam's dad's terrible old pickup truck in the driveway, which Liam finds oddly comforting. The thing refuses to die and Liam admires its persistence.

He hesitates at his front door because he can hear people chattering and soft music on the other side. Liam feels a little like he’s about to be thrown to the wolves, but then Zayn’s hand is on his back and Liam tries to imagine some of Zayn’s confidence can transfer through the connection. Liam opens the door for himself when he’s ready.

More people than Liam thinks he’s ever known in his life are crowded in every inch of his house. There’s a big hand-painted banner displaying “Welcome Home, Sgt. Payne!” hung over his fireplace and tables with a mountain of food underneath it. Liam doesn’t see his piano anywhere, which causes his heart to drop.

“I’ve got to find Perrie,” Zayn says, almost apologetically. Liam nods at him with his most reassuring smile because he doesn’t want Zayn to feel like he has to babysit him all afternoon.

Liam’s mom comes from nowhere and squeezes Liam into a tight hug as she sobs openly. He feels constricted in the hug, he wishes he could have worked up to it, but there’s no stopping her now. He pats at her back until she pulls away.

She appears to be saying something to him, but he can’t really understand her through the crying. He smiles at her in a way he hopes is warm and soothing, until his dad walks up to them and says, “For god’s sake, Kathy, pull yourself together.”

She just weeps a little more, flapping her arms at him as he shakes Liam’s hand and says, “Welcome home, son.”

“You’re so late,” she says finally between hiccupping sobs. “We were beginning to think you were never coming home.”

“I’m sorry, my bus got in late,” Liam lies, thinking he probably should have said something to Zayn about coordinating their excuse, as a pit stop for fried chicken because Liam was afraid to come home doesn’t seem like something his mom would understand.

People descend on him then, almost one by one like a receiving line at a funeral or a wedding, and they tug at him and ask him questions and expect everything at once from him. Liam smiles and fields questions as best he can, even if he’s answering the same ones over and over because no one’s paying enough attention to what he’s already said.

He thinks he can handle it, but within the stretch of half an hour, he excuses himself to the kitchen in search of something to soothe the dryness of his throat from too much use. He’s about to uncap a lukewarm bottle of Coke when a voice startles him.

“I brought in some bottles from a local brewery, you should give them a shot,” Niall says and Liam turns to find him smiling up at Liam from where he’s seated at the kitchen table. He has an apron decorated with “Kiss the Cook” on and he slouches in his chair comfortably, his right leg stretched out before him. His hair isn’t blond anymore, probably because bleaching is not army-sanctioned and Liam knows from experience that once you live your life by army sanctions, it’s hard to go back.

“Sounds good,” Liam says and Niall’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Liam peeks in the fridge and pulls out a bottle of beer that he doesn’t recognize the name of.

“It’s good?” Niall asks as soon as Liam takes a drink of it.

 _It’s terrible_ , Liam does not say.

“It’s good,” Liam says.

Niall just laughs and holds his hands out for it. “I’ll take it, you horse’s ass. I’m gonna teach you a thing or two about beer someday.”

Liam hands over the beer and cracks open the Coke as well. “How are you doing?”

“Pretty well, all things considered. How about you?”

Liam smiles and shrugs because he’s not entirely sure.

“Sounds about right,” Niall says and takes a pull from his beer. He smiles up at Liam anyway, bright and reassuring. Niall looks good. He hopes Niall feels good.

“I got a letter from Ruth about you a couple of months ago,” Liam says, like he doesn’t know the exact date, “I’m so sorry I didn’t write.”

“Not a problem.”

Liam runs his finger over the rim of the Coke bottle and thinks about how he used to blow over the tops of empty Coke bottles to make a sound. “Are you doing well?” he asks because he doesn’t feel like Niall cares about the fact that Coke bottles make a sound when you blow over the top.

“Yes, I am very well,” Niall answers with a silly posh voice, mocking Liam in a way he probably deserves. “Extraordinarily well, tip-top shape.”

Liam chuckles and apologizes. His face burns with embarrassment though. He shouldn’t treat Niall like the strangers in his living room, even if he hasn’t seen him in four years. Niall is family.

“What the fuck, Liam?” Niall asks, but he’s laughing.

“I’m sorry, I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Liam admits. “At all. Ever.”

“It’s fine,” Niall says with a kindness that says to Liam like he knows what Liam feels like. “I’m okay, really. It’s not so bad as it looks.”

Liam nods. “That’s good.”

“Also I can get Harry to get me anything,” Niall says with a wink. Then he’s sitting up and hollering for Harry and, true to his word, Harry comes barreling into the kitchen in the next few seconds. Harry looks a little frazzled, like he left the house before he could put a comb through his hair or finish buttoning up his shirt where it sits open, almost to his navel. He looks wide-eyed and questioning at Niall before he realizes Liam that stands next to him.

Harry practically collapses onto Liam in a hug, his body seeming to dwarf Liam’s in a way it never did when they were teenagers because Harry is so _tall_ now. The hugs are still overwhelming, too much contact. Liam reminds himself of taking months before he was used to constant physical affection when he first became friends with them and he wonders how he could have regressed. Affection feels absent from Liam’s heart, like disuse has caused it all to evaporate.

Liam does what he’s been doing with other people all day, slapping at Harry’s back until he pulls off. Except Harry’s doesn’t seem to want to pull off until Niall’s tugging at Harry’s arm and murmuring his name until Harry gets the hint.

“Sorry,” Harry says with a contrite smile. “It’s so good to see you, Liam.”

“It’s good to see you too, Harry.”

Harry holds his smile at Liam for a while, perhaps until he thinks Liam really does believe Harry thinks it’s good to see him. He turns to Niall. “Did you need something?”

“No,” Niall says with a smile.

Harry frowns at him. “I was holding Josie and then I ran in here.”

Niall just shrugs. Liam misses them so much and he’s standing right in front of them. They’re familiar and comforting and Liam wants to reach out to them, but he doesn’t.

His mom calls for him from the next room and before he can make his excuses, Niall says, “Go on, we’ll catch up later.”

“Please,” Liam says and leans over to squeeze Niall’s shoulder. Niall reaches up to jab Liam in his stomach, but Liam’s too fast for him and he ducks out of the way. Niall flips him off with a smile when Liam laughs in triumph.

“Try the burgers, I grilled them myself,” Niall says. “They may be a little cold now.”

“My bus was late,” Liam says.

“Of course,” Niall says generously because he seems to know when Liam is lying. He waves to let Liam know it’s okay to go.

Harry leads Liam back out into the living room, making a beeline straight for Zayn. He scoops up the baby from Zayn’s arms and bounces her softly. This must be Josie. Harry coos at her and makes silly faces while Zayn introduces Liam to Perrie. Too soon, Liam’s mom is tugging at his shoulder to get him to talk to a hundred other strangers.

They ask him about Vietnam and the weather and whether the stories about the girls over there were true. Liam isn’t entirely sure what stories are supposed to be true, so he tells them he never saw any girls. Nobody asks him anything like how many people he thinks he killed or what the names of the soldiers he lost were. It’s a small mercy he doesn’t have to say Tom’s name or the fifteen other names out loud, but these still seem like the only questions that matter. Nobody really cares about whether it snows in Vietnam.

He gets lost for far too long in trying to dodge questions about himself while people talk to him and his mom continues to cry at his side, talking about how proud she is of him. All he had to do was go to war for four years to get his parents to finally say they’re proud of him. It seems too heavy a price to pay.

He meets a man named Paddy, who introduces himself as the police commissioner for Marquette. He asks Liam what his plans are for his future, and Liam answers honestly that he has no idea. He doesn’t tell Paddy he was thinking of getting into the fried chicken business, which seems for the best because Paddy offers him a place with the police if he can pass the training. He says law enforcement is a good home for former soldiers and Liam doesn’t have the heart to tell him he never wants to carry a gun again.

He can see Zayn hovering when he can, like he’s looking for an opportune moment to pull Liam from listening to his neighbor talk about his service in World War II. Zayn never gets the opportunity, though, and Liam remains stuck.

When there seems to be a lull in conversation, Liam excuses himself, pushing past Zayn’s family and Harry with a small wave. _It’s just too much_ , he doesn’t shout at all of them.

Liam pushes his back door open and he doesn’t get very far on the patio before he’s crouching with his head in his hands as he swallows in deep breaths. He’s overwhelmed and he hates it. He doesn’t understand why he just can’t calm down and sink into a corner, unnoticed like he used to be so good at, until everyone forgets he’s there. Probably because everybody’s there for him.

“Welcome home,” a voice behind him says mildly, and Liam seizes up all over again, his heart thumping faster. He turns and finds Jack sitting slumped in one of the patio chairs, smoking a cigarette and nursing a drink.

 _You scared the shit out of me_ , Liam does not say. He has no interest in talking to Jack, so he rises, wondering if he can get away with walking out into his backyard far enough that he doesn’t have to make polite conversation. He expects Jack to look at Liam with the casual disdain he always has on his face when he’s looking at Liam, but Jack looks tired in a way that Liam recognizes.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Liam says.

“That’s the idea.” Jack swirls the ice in his drink around before taking a drink. “Technically nobody can be mad at me for not coming.”

“You don’t want to be here?”

“Do you?” Jack accuses, finally making that Liam face.

“Of course,” Liam lies, because of all the people at this party, Jack is the least deserving of Liam’s secrets. If Liam wanted to be here, he probably wouldn’t have ran to the backyard to escape. He’s sure Jack knows this, but Liam’s not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

“Sure,” Jack scoffs.

“You can leave, then. I give you permission.” If Jack doesn’t want to be here, then he shouldn’t be here. Liam isn’t really all that surprised that Jack hasn’t changed at all and he still hates Liam for no discernable reason. But Liam has changed enough to know he doesn’t have to sit around and take it.

“I’ll suffer.”

Liam would rather go back inside with the crowd and the anxiety than stay out here with Jack and his shitty behavior, so he makes for the door. He thinks he can get away with hiding in his room for a little while.

"I never thought Tommo would actually leave," Jack says, stopping Liam in his tracks.

"You told him to." Liam scowls at him, he remembers New Year's Eve and Jack encouraging Louis to dodge like he knew their secret.

"You know as well as I do that telling Tommo what to do means fuck all."

Liam does. Sometimes Liam thinks he knows that better than anyone else.

“I just didn’t think I’d never see him again. But he was right to leave,” Jack adds. He sounds like he has more to say, so Liam waits. Liam is good at that, waiting silently, patiently, even if Jack doesn't deserve it.

"Everything he said about what they’d do to us…. Everyone says it gets easier but it's been a couple of years and I don't know." Jack shakes his head. He looks tired again and Liam recognizes the look from soldiers near the end of their tour or soldiers on the plane home. He hates seeing it in his own face when he looks in the mirror.

"Have you talked to someone about it?"

"Who would understand?" Jack spits. "Nobody fucking knows."

“Niall has been there,” Liam says instantly.

Jack’s face darkens. “Niall is proud to serve his country.”

That sounds like a criticism of Niall, which Liam hates. Liam has no idea how Niall feels about everything, given how little they've spoken today, but he seems in the good spirits Ruth had described him with in her letter. It's admirable, Liam supposes, that Niall has bounced back quickly, that he's choosing to make the best of his situation. Of any of them, Niall seems like the best person to lean on. Liam isn’t sure he’s proud of what he’s done, though he’d never admit it.

"I think I understand," Liam says, pressing into his words the weight of four years of death and war and horror. Maybe Jack will listen to him now, even if he’s never listened to Liam before. "I started to feel like I wasn't a person anymore."

Jack nods slowly, squinting at Liam like he can't believe Liam knows. "They weren't people either," Jack says. "I thought of them like targets. Or like deer. My father and I used to go hunting when I was a kid and we'd stalk bucks sometimes for hours just for a clean kill. That's what it felt like, they were just animals for slaughter and everything was fair game."

Liam got the same directive. Kill anything that moves. It was easier to follow those orders in the jungle when the possibility for civilian casualties was severely decreased. He never envied those regularly deployed to villages and the two times he had been deployed were some of the toughest weeks of his life.

"El looks at the pictures and the videos sometimes -- why they put that shit out for people to see," he growls, his fingers pressing hard against the glass tumbler. Liam wouldn't be surprised if the thing crumbles in his hand. "She tries not to, but she looks at me different. Like she knows the things I've done."

Jack's sister Eleanor is about the same age as Lottie, and Liam knows he couldn't handle it if Lottie knew the things he'd done and hated him for it. She's not here, though, none of them are, and Liam has to wonder if they have forgiven him or not, if Louis' family know Liam could have stopped him from leaving them.

“I can help,” Liam offers, for whatever use it is. Liam doesn’t exactly want to talk about anything he’s been through with anyone, but he still feels like a shared experience might do some good. He always feels better when he finds out other people feel the same way he does, when he finds out he’s not alone. “We can talk about it.”

Jack laughs hollowly, drawing himself up and turning narrowed eyes to Liam. “So you have all the fucking answers, then? You’re gonna fix me, Liam?”

Liam doesn’t like the way his name curls around Jack’s lips with disdain.

“What’s your problem with me?” he asks, finally voicing the question that’s been sitting unsaid at the back of his throat for years.

Jack doesn’t answer, he just rises and claps Liam on the shoulder sarcastically. “Lovely party, Liam,” he says as he opens the door to Liam’s house.

Liam catches his wrist and tugs. Jack wrenches his arm from Liam’s grasp and follows with a shove to Liam’s chest. Liam stumbles back into the patio chair, gripping the chair firmly to stop himself from the punch that his fist itches to throw. Liam isn’t a violent or retaliatory kind of person, at least not at home, but the way his blood boils when he looks at Jack makes him want to be.

“You don’t get to have everything, Liam,” Jack hisses. “You don’t get to have a homecoming party where people are happy to have you home. You don’t get to be better than me. You don’t get to pity me.”

“I’ve never pitied you,” Liam says, which is the truth. He’s never known what to think of Jack, but when he did think of him, he was jealous. He wanted Jack’s ease with Louis’ friends and he wanted Louis’ attention the way Jack had it. Liam guesses he actually had everything. But now that Louis’ gone, it doesn’t mean anything anyway.

“Good, because I sure as shit don’t need pity from someone as pathetic as you.”

“I’m not pathetic,” Liam says, hating the way a waver in his voice kept him from sounding as confident as he needed to be.

Liam thinks he might have been pathetic, he certainly had to look pathetic, falling all over Louis for his attention. Falling in love with Louis because of his attention. He wonders if Jack laughed when Liam realized Louis never loved him. He wonders if Jack knew, if they all knew, and they were just waiting for Liam to catch up.

“You were a project, a sad little shell of a person,” Jack says, like he can read Liam’s deepest fears. Or that what Liam always feared was just the truth. Louis liked the attention and Liam liked giving the attention and when Liam was done giving the attention, Louis was done with him. Liam feels himself curling up defensively and he hates it.

“That’s what Tommo did,” he continues, “he’d collect you like a little bird with a broken wing, and he’d fix you, and he’d set you free. Only he wouldn’t set you free and you wouldn’t go away. You were supposed to be temporary. You’re not one of us. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you because you’re not one of us. He wasn’t yours to keep.”

“Louis left me. And he never loved me,” Liam says, furrowing his brows in confusion. Liam couldn’t keep anything. He was always at Louis’ mercy.

“God, you’re such a fucking idiot,” Jack says with a shake of his head. He doesn’t sound angry anymore, just sad, which confuses Liam even further.

“Doesn’t it get exhausting, thinking the worst of people?”

“Does it get exhausting, thinking everyone thinks the worst of you?”

“They do,” Liam says.

When he goes to leave, Liam doesn’t stop him.

He doesn’t want to hear it anymore. He doesn’t want to listen to Jack confirm all the things about Louis that Liam’s thought to be true. He doesn’t want to know how foolish he’d been to believe Louis wanted him or how foolish the boys thought Liam was to imagine he and Louis were something greater.

Liam didn’t want to come home to this, to a place where everything he touches and everywhere he looks and everyone he talks to reminds him of Louis. He should have just moved somewhere new, he shouldn’t have bothered coming home at all if he is going to be as miserable here as he was on the battlefield.

The door opens behind Liam and he doesn’t turn to check who it is. He just can’t be bothered to care, he only wants to be left alone. He wishes he had a better excuse for standing outside other than he’s hiding because he’s a coward because he knows this person is going to ask him about it.

“There you are, love,” says a soft and familiar voice and Liam thinks it can’t be Jay, but it is. He turns to her and her eyes are shining with tears and wrinkling with her smile, just like Louis’ did.

He goes to her, wraps his arms around her, and holds her desperately. She strokes his back calmly as he begins to cry into her sweater, cracking finally under the weight of the day’s stress. She feels safe enough that Liam can let go around her. She’s here and she doesn’t hate him and even if Louis doesn’t love him, Jay does. She’s always supported him, always made him feel welcome. With her, Liam knows he’s part of the us in Jack’s _one of us_.

She holds him until he stops crying and he can pull away to look sheepishly up at her. He apologizes and she shushes him impatiently. “Look at you, so handsome and grown up,” she says fondly. She rubs her hand over Liam’s shaved head, which he knows feels like bristles, not exactly comfortable to the touch.

“You look marvelous,” Liam says. She does look very nice in the sweater the blue of Louis’ eyes, even if it’s a little mussed with Liam’s tears. She also looks weary, which Liam hates. She never looked stressed before, or maybe he’s just never understood what stress looked like before then. He wants to help her if he can because she’s already helped him much more than he deserves.

“I wanted to make sure you remember to come to dinner on Sunday,” she says.

Sunday dinners. Liam could never forget them. The happiest days of his life were spent sitting at the Tomlinson’s dinner table on a Sunday night.

“I didn’t think I was invited because,” Liam trails off. _Because Louis left us and because I didn’t do anything to stop him,_ he doesn’t say. _Because your family got ripped apart by war. Because two of us left and I’m sorry I’m the only one who has come home. I’m sorry everyone else wants Louis to come home, but I’m the one you’re stuck with._

She rests her hand to Liam’s cheek and says, sincerity hanging on every word, “You will always be invited, Liam. You’re family.”

\--


	15. December 23, 1976

_( I Should Have Known Better - The Beatles, Elegie - Patti Smith)_

* * *

_December 23, 1976_

 

Louis panics when he wakes up alone, setting his heart racing and his mind whirring too fast for the early hour. He takes a few breaths to calm himself down before swinging out of bed. Liam could be in the shower or the kitchen or maybe out for a run at quarter to six in the morning because he’s clinically insane. It’s Liam’s house, he’s eventually going to come back. He didn’t leave Louis.

ma

Louis pads around the house anyway. Liam’s not in the shower and he’s not in the kitchen. Louis is at a loss for what he’s supposed to do and what he _can_ do. It’s early enough that he can go back to bed, but he doesn’t want to now that Liam isn’t here.

He takes a quick shower even though he’s been indulging in long, relaxing showers since he’s been home. He hops out and leans out of the bathroom, listening closely for any tell-tale signs of life.

He hears nothing, so he ducks back, scanning Liam’s sink. There’s only one of everything he needs: one toothbrush, one razor, one bottle of shampoo. Louis doesn’t know if he feels satisfied no one else lives with Liam or sad that he hasn’t found someone else. Satisfied, he decides pretty quickly. Louis brushes his teeth with his finger and laughs at himself. They can swap bodily fluids but somehow sharing a toothbrush is going too far.

When he returns to Liam’s room, he realizes his clothing is folded up neatly on the nightstand next to the bed. He doesn’t want those. He rifles through Liam’s dresser instead until he finds what he does want. It’s an ugly shirt -- the Rolling Stones are not exactly good looking -- but that’s all he really has to choose from. He puts it on and finds himself swimming in it, just like he used to. It used to be a little big on Liam too, but Louis bets he fills it out nicely now, with his strong, broad chest.

He pokes around Liam’s room even though he knows he shouldn’t. He looks at it as gathering clues for helping Liam, understanding more about his life without needing to be told. He can tell Liam is always discerning about the details he shares.

Liam’s closet holds mostly uniforms: several of his navy blue police uniforms, a fancier uniform, and a few more tucked away in a garment bag that looks like it hasn’t been touched in years. Those must be from the army. The rest of the closet holds Liam’s dress pants and nice shirts, things his mom would have yelled at him about if he had tried to stuff them in the dresser with the rest of his t-shirts.

On a shelf above his clothes, Louis spots a small box with a lock -- one that probably holds Liam’s gun for work -- next to a shoebox. He goes up onto his toes to grab at the shoebox and settles onto the floor.

The box is basically empty except a patch, a thick letter, and a crumpled ball of paper. He recognizes the patch, it’s three arrows -- or chevrons, as Liam had explained yesterday -- indicating his rank as sergeant. They do look like Liam’s tattoo, but Louis still isn’t sure why Liam has four of them instead of three.

He picks up the letter first, still in its envelope, a careful slice down the length of the top showing Liam has opened it. He doesn’t recognize who it’s from, but he plucks the letter out anyway.

_Sgt. Payne --_

_Thank you for your kind letter and for the work you did ensuring Tom’s camera found its way home to us. We didn’t hear much from Tom while he was gone, I’m sorry he didn’t get the chance to tell us about you. I’m sure you treated him with the same thoughtfulness you treated us with, and for that we are grateful._

_We weren’t sure what to do with these pictures. We figured some of them might be of interest to you, particularly the ones with your soldiers in them. Hopefully you’ll find some use in them._

_Should you ever find yourself in Marietta, please stop by. We would love to meet you._

_Yours,_

_Mary Jo Heinen_

Louis frowns at the letter before shuffling through the five photos tucked into the envelope. A couple of them are group shots of men sitting around in the jungle, lounging and smoking and playing cards like they’re not at war. There’s one of a few guys hanging out of a grounded helicopter, leaning through the area where the doors should be, and they look too excited to be there.

The last one is of Liam. A shot of him taking apart his gun. He looks like he’s cleaning it because he’s got this face of intense concentration on, much like the face he makes when he’s running. Behind the concentration is a sort of emptiness in Liam’s eyes. Louis wonders if he’s just projecting onto Liam what he wants to see, but Liam doesn’t look happy or upset. He just looks blank.

It scares Louis. Liam shouldn’t look like this. Liam’s eyes should be scrunched with laughter or bright with mischief or narrowed with irritation or soft with patience. Anything, really, but empty.

Louis tucks the pictures and the letter back into the envelope and turns his focus to smoothing out the crumpled ball of paper. It’s a letter from Liam’s sister. Louis isn’t planning to read it until he spots Niall’s name on the page.

_Dear Liam,_

_I’m stationed in _________ but not for long. I’m finally going home next week. I don’t have a lot of time to tell you all the things I want to tell you, but I’m writing because I’m not sure anyone else could tell you this. Three days ago, a man called Niall Horan came through our camp, said he knew you. He was _____________ in ___________ when he was ambushed by a civilian _______________________._

_He ran fast enough to escape most of the blast, but shrapnel tore through most of his left leg. We removed it, he’ll never walk again. This is starting to sound like my official report and I don’t mean to just-the-facts-ma’am you, but I really don’t know how else to say it._

_He’s in good spirits, in spite of everything, perhaps it’s just the shock that he’s still alive. He asked after you and I was saddened that I couldn’t pass on anything but the well wishes I am sure you would have given were you there. In any case, he says hello. I asked him what I should say to you and he just shrugged and said, “Tell him I said hello.”_

The last three lines are blacked out, but Louis doesn’t want to read them anyway.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Louis breathes, crumpling the page back into a ball and shoving it into the box. He puts the shoebox back on the shelf as close to its original placement as he can remember.

It’s Liam’s box of sadness. He literally boxes things away so he doesn’t have to think about them, but he still sees the box every time he opens his closet. He still knows these things are here, hanging over his head, taunting him because he probably thinks he deserves it.

A spare patch -- one that doesn’t have a home on his uniform anymore -- a letter from a dead soldier’s mom, news of Niall’s injury. Louis half wonders why the Rolling Stones shirt isn’t in there too.

He sits himself on Liam’s couch to wait, no longer comfortable alone in Liam’s room. He’s learned what he needed to learn, but he still feels like he shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have gone poking around.

Twenty minutes later, Liam comes home, both hands cradling a box of what Louis suspects is a dozen donuts. He can’t help the tiny flutter of relief in his stomach when he sees him, sweating and rejuvenated. Louis jumps up to greet him as he sets the donuts on the table by the door. Liam startles at Louis’ appearance, his eyes wide, his breath catching, and his face dropping. Louis smiles at him, calm and sure, trying not to look like he’s just done something wrong. Liam looks on the edge of terrified, like he isn’t sure what he’s allowed to do.

“Hi,” Liam says at last.

“Good morning. Went for a run?” Louis says, forcing a conversational tone.

“Yeah,” Liam says, his eyes sliding up and down Louis. Louis can see him taking stock of what he’s looking at. Wet hair, showered; Liam’s Rolling Stones t-shirt, rifled through several drawers specifically searching for it; Liam’s track pants, continued refusal to wear own clothing. Liam keeps talking, but his mind seems otherwise occupied. “Sorry, I didn’t think you’d wake up before I got back.”

Louis takes a step forward, pushing himself into Liam’s space.

“Did you sleep okay?” Louis asks, reaching up a hand to push Liam’s sweaty hair off his forehead. His hand keeps trailing down, sliding lightly behind Liam’s ear and down until Louis reaches his final resting place at the crook of his neck.

Louis would be lying if he hadn’t thought about the nightmares and Jack and the possibility of being struck before falling asleep curled against Liam’s back. As far as he could tell, there were no disturbances when they slept together. He wanted Liam to remember that.

“Better than I have in a while.” Liam licks his lips. Louis notices his breathing is a little heavy. It could be from the long run he’s just been on, but Louis thinks he knows better.

“Orgasms, right? Who knew.” Louis wiggles his eyebrows a little.

Liam cracks a smile finally, a begrudging smile but a smile nonetheless, and that’s when Louis decides to kiss him. He closes the distance between them quickly, using the hand on Liam’s neck to guide him. Liam seems to need a few seconds to cotton on to the fact that he’s supposed to be kissing, but once he does, he kisses with earnest. His lips move slowly against Louis’, purposeful and thorough.

Louis snakes his other hand to guide one of Liam’s to his hip.

“I have to be at work in half an hour,” Liam mumbles, kissing him again.

“Stay. We can have _donuts_. And then we can eat these donuts.” He kisses up the column of Liam’s neck, but when he gets no verbal reaction, he pulls away, narrowing his eyes at him. Liam is smiling, but that’s not enough. “Come on, Liam, not even a light chuckle? That was a good joke.”

Liam looks stressed. “I want to, I think.”

“You think?” Louis knows he didn’t mean it that way, but he throws his eyebrows up in indignation anyway. It’s too easy to rile him up, the temptation is too great.

“No, I do,” he says quickly, too earnestly, giving one of Louis’ hips a light squeeze to drive his point home. “But I have to go.”

“Call in sick or something.”

They’ve been here before. Louis prodding Liam to be a little mischievous, and Liam always puts up a fight. Louis figured out pretty quickly Liam just wants to be convinced, he wants to be shown he doesn’t have any other options, so when he says yes, it’s not his own fault or his own choice. Only then will Liam agree.

Liam frowns, scrunching his face together and his eyes closed, like the simple act of considering Louis’ proposal is causing him pain. “I can't,” he decides.

“It's practically Christmas,” Louis huffs, “nobody's committing crime at Christmas.”

Liam peeks an eye open to look critically at Louis. “There's actually more crime at Christmas.”

“Stay. Fuck them,” he says, then leans up to Liam’s ear to whisper. “And then fuck me.” He’s on fire with the terrible jokes today, looking for any excuse to make Liam crack a smile and laugh with him. It doesn’t work.

“You're not listening,” Liam says firmly, pulling away. The way he draws himself up makes Louis feel small. “I said I can't.”

“Sorry,” Louis mumbles, stepping further back. He’s embarrassed. He’s doing it again. Liam is opening up to him again and Louis is ruining it again without even knowing it. If he can’t get Liam to open up, to trust him enough, he can’t help Liam. “Right. I'm sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Liam says reflexively, dropping his eyes to the floor and running a hand through his hair. Louis doesn’t understand why he seems embarrassed now after having been so firm in his convictions Monday night. It’s easy to have the courage to confront someone when anger is driving the conversation, Louis supposes, but Liam isn’t angry anymore. Louis doesn’t want him to find another reason to get angry again.

“No, it’s not fine,” Louis says. He means it.

Liam blinks at him for a moment before understanding Louis is trying to help remind him to stay strong. “No, it’s not,” he confirms.

After Liam showers -- and Louis fights against offering to join him -- he volunteers to take Louis home. Liam looks crisp and clean in his uniform, far too official for Louis’ taste. He prefers Liam in track pants and a sweatshirt, soft and comfortable and approachable. Louis doesn’t know what to do with an officer of the law.

Liam rests the box of donuts between them on his bench seat. They ride without talking, the hum of the truck's ancient engine filling the silence.  At a red light, Louis catches Liam looking at him, his face soft and the corners of his mouth just barely turned up. Liam holds his hand out over the box of donuts then, palm up, sure and steady. Louis laces his fingers in and then steals his hand, resting it in his own lap. Liam shakes his head and drives on.

They have a steady connection, neither of them needing to do anything to keep it up but keep their hands together. Like a little reminder: hey, I'm here with you.

Louis doesn't know how long it's been since he's held someone's hand or done anything quietly intimate. Sure, he's grabbed Phoebe's hand to cross the street and thrown his arm around Harry's shoulder and spent all night cuddling Liam. But right now it feels different. Simple, like there's no expectation.

Louis doesn't know if he can kiss Liam before getting out of the car. With the exception of holding his hand, every part of their rekindled whatever-this-is has existed in the safety of Liam's house. It had only ever existed in the past in houses behind closed doors. They had designated safe spaces and never did anything public. Now will probably be more of the same. It shouldn't be, they shouldn't have to turn themselves off just because they walk outside.

Liam pulls into Louis' driveway and neither of them move when he pulls his hand from Louis' to throw the truck into park. Louis pretends he doesn't miss the contact.

“We could have lunch,” Liam suggests.

“I'd like that,” Louis says.

Liam nods. “I'll come get you at noon?”

Louis nods back. “Yeah.”

“I'm gonna be late,” Liam prompts when Louis still hasn’t moved.

“Yeah.” Louis dives in to press a kiss to Liam's cheek and climbs out of the truck before Liam can say or do anything. He races to his front door and slips in, pressing the door firmly closed and leaning his forehead against the cool wood.

“Weird weird weird,” he tells the door.

“Louis?” his mom calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he answers, rounding the corner. He puts on a smile for her, but she's frowning deeply at him. She's leaned against the kitchen counter, already dressed for work.

“You didn't call at all yesterday, I had no idea where you were,” she says, like he's not a grown adult.

“I was with Liam,” he says, straining to keep teenage petulance from his voice.

“I know that because I called Harry.” She purses her lips in that specific Tomlinson way to indicate both irritation and disappointment simultaneously.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says because he’s supposed to.

Her face falls away from irritation into something sadder. “It’s just… I wasn’t sure if you were coming back.”

“What?” he asks, taken completely off-guard. “Of course I was coming back.”

“I know. I know that. Mother’s irrational fear.”

Brought on by Louis’ past behavior. His leaving seven years ago scarred his mom so much he’s not even sure he can leave the house to go to the grocery store without her wondering if he’s ever going to come back.

He gathers her up into a firm hug. “I’m staying. I’m sorry.” This time the apology means something.

Her breath hitches and when she pulls away, she’s doing everything she can to make sure he doesn’t see her crying. She fails, but Louis lets her get away with it anyway.

“Just let me know when you’re staying out, okay?” she says. “Only for a little while, I promise.”

“Of course. It’s not a problem.” He slips off his jacket finally and curls it up in his arms. “I am having lunch with Liam, but I should be home after that. Seems everybody has adult jobs they need to attend to.”

She smiles at him, almost pitying. He didn’t mean that to come out quite as sad as it did. “True. You’ll have to get yourself one of them.”

Louis hums. The thought has been skirting around his mind for days. He doesn’t know if he can do what he did in Canada, pick up odd jobs, get paid under the table. He doesn’t know if he can get a real job without drawing the attention of the army or Keating’s supposed contingent of people who want to see him gone.

“Speaking of adult jobs,” she says, picking up her keys and purse from the counter. “I’ll be home for dinner. Dan’s coming.” She kisses him on the forehead and goes to work.

Louis watches uselessly as the girls go about their morning in a practiced frenzy. Lottie gets up first, drags Phoebe and Daisy out of bed, and leaves Fizz to her own devices. Lottie makes breakfast for the girls, quick to point out to Louis that just because she cooks doesn’t mean she’s submitting to the patriarchy-given roles in society. Louis can’t even begin to unpack what that even means.

He spends all morning anxiously waiting for lunch with Liam at noon which is… a new sensation. He doesn’t wait on Liam, he just goes and gets him whenever he feels like it. He’s always appreciated how eager Liam was for his attention, how much Liam made him feel needed. He needs Liam’s attention too, now more than ever. Still to make him feel needed.

“You really fucked Ma up not coming home yesterday,” Fizz says. She finally made it downstairs just before lunch to hover by the couch where Louis sits. Louis looks up at her, his stomach twisting.

“Felicite,” Lottie censures sharply, looking up from her book to level a glare, but Fizz remains unbothered. Lottie passes a look to the twins where they’re playing with Barbie dolls in the corner. They remain unbothered by Fizz’s language. They probably don’t even realize she said something wrong.

“She really thought you weren’t coming back. She was crying into the mashed potatoes. She jumped every time she saw headlights out in the streets.”

“That’s enough,” Lottie says, sounding too much like their mother.

“It’s fine,” Louis says, holding out a placating hand to her. He turns back to Fizz. “I know that. I am really sorry for scaring her, but you guys are stuck with me, Fizz.”

“Stop calling me that,” Fizz spits.  “I hate it.”

He blinks at her. “But I’ve always called you that.”

“I know. I hate it,” she repeats, stressing each of her words through gritted teeth.

He’s home now, she doesn’t have any reason to hate it. He could take back the nickname, smooth everything over until everything goes back to the way it was. He could.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Felicite. I’m sorry.”

Felicite shrugs like she doesn’t care for or require his apology.

“Did you have a nice time yesterday?” Lottie asks diplomatically.

As nice as it can be. Started off a bit rocky, Louis admits, but right around _Rocky,_ things started to pick up. There was a solid crescendo of niceness, and Louis is willing to admit he liked spending the night with Liam in his arms. “I did,” he decides. “I spent all day with Liam.”

“No, you didn’t,” Felicite says.

“Yes, I did?” Louis half-heartedly argues, his face pulling into a frown.

“You couldn’t have. Liam hates you.”

Louis’ heart seizes up and then proceeds to beat faster than it should. He bites down on the defensiveness he feels boil up inside of him and squeezes out a tame, “He doesn’t hate me.”

“Stop it, the two of you,” Lottie says sharply,

“Did he tell you he hates me?” Louis asks, his voice softer than he wants it to be. Liam might have hated him before, but it’s another thing to have talked to his family about it. Liam swore up and down he said nothing against Louis when Louis wasn’t here to defend himself. Louis believes him. He has to.

Felicite doesn’t answer and Louis wants to lean on her until she does, but the doorbell rings, so Louis shoots of the couch instead. “It’s Liam, I’ll see you all after lunch,” he tells the room, not bothering to stop for any goodbyes.

He wrenches open the door as soon as he gets to it and hauls Liam in to press him against the hallway wall and kiss him like he’s trying to prove a point. He sort of is trying to prove a point.

Liam makes a sort of surprised “oh” noise against Louis’ lips but learns pretty quickly to just go with it. Louis isn’t quite sure where to put his hands because Liam’s got a gun on his hips, but he makes do grasping at the short hairs on the back of Liam’s neck. Louis kisses like he’s on a mission, to claim every inch of Liam’s mouth. Liam struggles to keep up for another few moments before he pulls away.

“We only have forty minutes,” Liam says, looking a little dumbfounded.

“Ah. Sorry about that,” Louis says with a smirk.

“No, you’re not,” Liam says, the censure in his narrowed eyes defeated by the smile on his face.

He presses a kiss to Liam’s cheek. “No, I’m not.”

Louis moves to get his jacket, but freezes at the sight of Felicite staring at them from in front of the stairs. She looks about as dumbfounded as Liam did, but her expression is laced with something darker like betrayal. She stomps up the stairs before either of them say anything, but really, Louis doesn’t have any explanation he feels he needs to give.

He still sours though, snatching up his jacket from the closet and throwing himself into Liam’s police cruiser outside -- the front seat this time. He looks out the window instead of at Liam, not sure what he was expecting would happen. Felicite would see them and she would just magically forgive Louis? If she placed so much stock in Liam, she would see that if Liam wants him and Liam trusts him, then Louis must not be the bad guy. Liam doesn’t think he’s the bad guy anymore. Hopefully.

 _Do you hate me?_ sits on the tip of his tongue, begging to fly through his lips. Louis knows he hated Liam pretty fiercely for years. But now. Now Louis is practically willing to beg for Liam’s validation.

“She just needs a little time,” Liam says quietly, so Louis knows it’s been on Liam’s mind as well.

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” Louis grouses. He’s exhausted from tiptoeing around her. “How much time does she need?”

Liam looks like his face works through a couple of expressions before settling on something neutral. “It’s hard for her. You left so suddenly, without warning.”

“You left too, to fucking war for god knows how many years, and she doesn’t hate you,” Louis snaps.

He shouldn’t lash out at Liam, but it’s too hard not to. He knows the war was hell for him, he knows Liam had it worse off. But he still chose to go to war. Louis isn’t the only one who left, and no amount of reconciliation is going to let him look over the fact that no one blames Liam for leaving them the way they blame Louis. No one is ever going to call Liam selfish.

“Well, then,” Liam says tightly, “I guess she just likes me better than she likes you.”

Louis looks sharply to Liam, whose straight face stays trained to the road ahead of him. Within a few seconds, though, Liam breaks, a small smile curling at the edge of his mouth as he glances quickly to Louis. The light in his eyes tells Louis he means it as a joke, but there’s too much truth in it.

“Touché,” Louis says, smiling even though he doesn’t feel it.

Liam takes them to Paddy’s which doesn’t surprise Louis at all because apparently Liam only eats Paddy’s and donuts. They settle into the same table as yesterday, the one Louis quickly suspects is Liam’s Table. Really, all it’s missing is the commemorative plaque. Louis still feels on edge here, tries to think he’s just imagining how often he feels he’s being stared at by the other cops in the room. But Liam is obviously comfortable here, so Louis has to grin and bear it.

Eleanor serves them, surprising Louis. She smiles at Liam, but frowns when she sees he’s with Louis, which is par for the fucking course these days. Louis tries not to let his face heat up with irritation as she takes their order with as few words as possible before storming off.

“Hey,” Liam says, his eyes full of concern that Louis doesn’t want.

“Sometimes it just feels like everyone hates me,” Louis says, but he doesn’t mean to.

Liam nods. “I think I know a little something about that. Or I did when I was a kid.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks. It’s hard to imagine because everybody fucking loves Liam now. “How’d you change that?”

“Well, things took a little turn for the better when some idiot kid almost hit me with a soccer ball,” Liam answers, dropping his eyes to watch his fingers tear at his paper napkin.

Oh. Right. Louis doesn’t know how he could have forgotten. Liam was bullied and alone and Louis found him and gave him a family. But Liam’s never had that family turn on him. Liam doesn’t know that.

“I kicked it far enough that it wouldn’t hit you. Don’t be a baby,” Louis says.

Liam looks up sharply, his eyes wide with confusion. “You did that on purpose?”

“Of course I fucking did,” Louis says, lifting his eyebrows with disdain because Liam is so unbelievably dense sometimes that it’s unreal. Maybe Liam didn’t know Louis had seen him, watched him for a few weeks as Liam walked down the halls practically vibrating with sadness and loneliness. And then he saw Liam at the track at the asscrack of dawn, running like his life depended on it, and Louis couldn’t take it anymore.

“Oh,” Liam says, his voice small, before smiling up at Eleanor and thanking her as she delivers their drinks.

Louis doesn’t know how he handles it, going from irritated at Liam to enamored by him on a second to second basis, but the pinking of his cheeks has shifted Louis into something nearing fondness. He snakes a hand out across their table, his palm up and fingers wiggling until Liam gets the hint. They sit together with their fingers interlocked for a few minutes as they talk idly.

“ _Detective_ Payne,” says a man Louis doesn’t know, looking down at them with surprise.

Liam removes his hand from Louis’ and picks up his drink to cover the action. It’s so smooth that Louis wants to rage. Liam smiles up at him. “Paddy, good afternoon.”

Paddy saw it. Louis sees the realization in his eyes, and Liam’s cheeks are pink with a different kind of embarrassment. Paddy looks between the two of them and Louis stares back up at him, daring him to say something about it.

“Twice in one week, how did I get so lucky?” Paddy says finally.

“Well, I went to KFC twice last week and I was feeling guilty,” Liam answers, continuing to smile peacefully at him, like nothing’s happened.

“I am deeply offended, Payne,” Paddy says. “How’s your studying going?”

“Very well, sir,” Liam says. “I’ll be ready soon, I think.”

Louis sits quietly, not even a little patiently, as they chat with each other. Liam glances briefly to check in with Louis and falters at the sight of Louis’ pursed lips.

“Oh. This is, uh, Louis,” Liam says finally, quickly. “He’s an old friend.”

“Yes, I’m uh-Louis,” Louis says, holding out a hand to shake Paddy’s. “Liam’s old friend.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Paddy, Liam’s old boss,” Paddy says, his critical eye giving Louis a look up and down. “Haven’t seen you around here before.”

“I moved away for a while.” He trades a look with Liam, who rolls his eyes.

“Hmm,” Paddy says, nodding thoughtfully. He knows exactly who Louis is. The only issue remaining is whose camp he sits in. Louis remembers Liam gushing about him yesterday, going on and on about him being his father figure, guiding Liam, making him feel at home. Anyone who Liam trusts that much has to be all right, but Louis still worries.

“You both enjoy your meal, all right?” Paddy says. He shuffles away, all smiles.

Liam turns to Louis, all smiles. Louis feels sickened, even as Eleanor delivers their plates of food. Louis picks at his meal, half-watching Liam talk about studying for something, half-watching all the people watching them. Liam looks unaware, leaning in and speaking with such passion that Louis has to watch him go. His enthusiasm is infectious, so different from Louis’ first few days back when Liam frowned so hard and so often his face threatened to stick that way. He presses Louis for his opinion on Paddy and Louis assures him he thinks Paddy is just great.

Louis’ plan is working. Liam looks happier already, more like himself than Louis could ever hope. Louis does his best to tuck himself into Liam’s side as they walk out of the place after lunch is over. Liam’s hand finds Louis’ back, gently guiding him toward the door. Louis puts his hand to his chest and nearly curtsies when Liam holds the door open for him, which has Liam cracking up.

Liam follows Louis into his house when he drops him off, pulling the door open and scooting Louis inside quickly.

“What’s the rush?” Louis says, cut off by Liam’s lips pressing insistently at his. One of his hands grabs at Louis’ hips, the other holding firm to the back of Louis’ neck. Louis doesn’t know what to grasp at first. Liam’s on the mission now and it feels too good.

Liam giggles into Louis’ neck when he finally pulls away.

“What’s gotten into you?” Louis asks, delighted.

“God knows,” Liam laughs. “But it’s your fault.”

“Get to work,” Louis squawks, shoving at his shoulders. He likes the sound of that. It is his fault.

“Yeah,” Liam says, stumbling a little over his feet.

“Wait.” Louis grabs at his hand and yanks him back for another kiss before pushing him out the door.

Louis feels electric, tearing through the hallway and throwing his jacket on the couch, finding Lottie and the twins where he left them.

“Mama doesn’t let us leave our coats there,” Daisy says, her eyes sparkling as she looks up at him.

“Very good point,” Louis says and puts his coat away. He flies back into the living room and snatches up Phoebe, who squeals with surprise. “What are we doing, ladies?”

He follows the twins around the rest of the day, refusing to let them sit still for a moment because he can’t. He plays whatever games they want, gets on the floor and messes with their Barbie dolls, even convinces them to revisit the park to build snowmen. His scarf isn’t there and he doesn’t donate another one.

When Louis’ mom gets home, he draws her up before she gets the opportunity to put her purse down and gives her a spin and a kiss on the cheek. She looks at him like he’s crazy, but he doesn’t care. He keeps the twins occupied so they don’t run under their mom’s feet as she tries to make dinner for them. He can do anything.

The phone rings halfway through dinner and Louis shoots out of his chair for no real reason at all. It’s the hospital for Dan and Louis doesn’t know why he feels a little disappointed. He doesn’t even know what he was expecting.

“Perrie’s gone into labor,” he says when he hangs up. “I’m so sorry, I have to go.”

“I’m going with you,” Louis says immediately.

“Louis,” his mom says.

“I have to,” Louis says, pressing into his words all the things he doesn’t have time to explain. He has to be here for Zayn. He has to be here for someone in one of the most important moments of their lives. He wants to be remembered as being there, after years of not being there, because _now_ he can be there.

Harry’s already at the hospital, pacing a hole into the floor of the waiting area.

“Louis, it’s a baby!” Harry shouts as soon as he sees him.

“Is it here?” Dan asks, rushing forward.

“Oh, uh, not yet,” Harry says at Dan’s back as he speeds away. “It’s a baby.” He scoops up Louis into his arms and spins him around.

“It’s a baby,” Louis chokes out before Harry finally puts him down. “Where are the others?”

“Niall’s at the bar, he’ll be here in a while. I don’t know where Liam is, but I called him. Zayn’s back there, dying probably. Perrie’s family is driving up from Ann Arbor. Zayn’s family I am supposed to call when the baby is born because they didn’t want to stress anyone out by hovering,” Harry rattles out, impressively fast. Baby Fever Harry is a sight to see.

“That’s very thorough,” Louis says, patting Harry’s shoulder. “Take a breath. Or seven.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes. He takes several more breaths. “Can I show you something?”

Louis nods and gestures for Harry to lead the way. Harry takes him through a few corridors, ending where Louis should have expected them to. They peer together through the large window down at a sea of newborn babies, sleeping or fussing in their own little beds.  

Louis loves kids too, maybe not in the mildly obsessive way Harry does, but he was always quite taken with being the big brother. He likes the idea of being depended on, likes that he has a purpose. He supposes it should be kind of terrifying, being responsible for a life that’s not his own, but he finds it reassuring.

Harry pulls at his lip like he’s on the brink of saying something that worries him. Louis considers prompting him, Harry talks slow enough as it is, but he realizes if Harry was ready to talk, he would. Louis has to give him time, Louis needs patience.

“I was alone for a while,” Harry says eventually. “You left and then Liam left and then we graduated and Niall and Jack went to Vietnam and Zayn went to college at Michigan and it was just me for a whole year.”

He peeks over at Louis, as if to check that this is okay. Louis gives a smile, soft and encouraging, thinking about how little he really knows, how he was never sure how to ask Harry to say these things, how grateful he is Harry is taking it upon himself to offer this up.

“Just me and it’d never been just me before; I don’t think I’m very good at being alone. I made friends and all, I’m good at that. But they weren’t family.” As he speaks, Harry presses his fingers on the small ledge of the window, methodically like he’s checking its stability. Louis sees right through it. It’s a distraction, a task Harry can focus on so he doesn’t have to consider the weight of what he’s saying. “You were probably pretty good at that, being alone. Seemed like you didn’t really need any of us or anyone else and we were just lucky you wanted us around, you know? You could go anywhere and be anyone and it wouldn’t be a problem because you’d just grab a new gang.”

Liam said the same thing, they’re all lucky to be part of Louis’ life. God, Louis knew, he _knew_ they all felt this way. They all look at him and see that Louis thinks he’s better than everyone, above everyone, condescending to speak with mere mortals. It’s not the truth at all, it’s a terrible front because he’s so scared of being alone.

Louis cracks his mouth open to argue, but Harry keeps talking, soft and ashamed. “I felt really, really guilty for feeling relieved when Niall came home early. He was a mess and he was in pain, and I never would have wished that for him. But he was home.”

Harry’s frown deepens as he looks firmly through the window. Louis’ stomach sinks. Looking at Harry, nobody would guess these things sat inside him, eating him up. He’s too much like Niall in that way. But he doesn’t get physical reminders like Niall, he doesn’t have something he can put in a box like Liam. Everything that eats at Harry is in his mind and his heart, so maybe no one gets it.

“Then Jack came back and he wouldn't see any of us, so it still felt like me and Niall against the world. Me and Niall doing everything, me and Niall missing you guys the most, trying to make two people enough. Zayn would come home to visit, he'd bring Perrie with him from Ann Arbor, but that was never long enough. And I couldn't ask him to stay, he couldn't give up his life just because I missed him.

“He moved home before Josie was born, and that was fine. We got Zayn back and we got to add Perrie and it still wasn’t the same. You know how Zayn is. He can get lost in his own world and it seems like he has forgotten the rest of us for a while. He doesn’t forget, though, sooner or later he pops up again. Then we got Josie, and it was the best I could have asked for. Because Liam didn't come back when his first tour was over. We got Jack but we didn't get Liam. And I thought maybe he didn't want to come home. Maybe he was better at being alone too. Maybe he thought because you weren’t here, there was nothing left for him. We never heard from him and that was hard. You think all these things, these terrible things, because you don’t _know_ anything and they’re not here to defend themselves.”

Liam said just as much as well. They must not talk to each other about it, they must not know Liam was too scared to come home, didn’t think he deserved to come home. Louis wonders if Liam had known how much Harry wanted him to come home, whether that would have changed anything. If there was anything in the world Harry could have said to convince him Liam was wanted.

“But then he came home and it was fine,” Harry ambles on, pausing for a moment to consider what he’s said. “Well, Liam wasn’t fine. We wouldn't let him be like Jack, we wouldn't let him check out. Thank god we didn't because Jack…” Harry shakes his head, like he’s shaking away the end of his thought, too unpleasant to entertain. “Well. I know how hard it is without family, and I can't imagine going through what he did without his family. All I did was sit around and eat ice cream when I was alone. But we got through Jack's death together because we still had each other. We had as much of our family as we could hope for. There’s a point, I promise,” Harry adds, his face going a little red. He finally peeks over at Louis.

“Oh, good,” Louis says, answering Harry’s call to lighten the mood. “I was beginning to think I would be stuck here all night.”

“Fuck off,” Harry laughs with a little pout. “The point is... We’re complete now and our family is growing. I didn't think I could have this much again. We've got you back and we've got a new little one. And I'm so happy, Louis. It’s not a hard life I have, certainly not like yours or Niall’s or Liam’s or Jack’s. But anyway. I’m just happy. I kind of want to tell everyone.”

Harry smiles then, big and bright, at his happy ending. Louis feels it too. He feels it like he felt it with Liam, like as long as they keep doing what they’re doing, they can make it back to a happier place. They can make everything all right.

“You should tell everyone,” Louis says, smiling back at him. “We could use a reminder.”

“Think I might,” Harry says, knocking Louis’ shoulder with his own.

“You should probably shorten the speech a little,” Louis jokes, “in the interest of time.”

Harry’s face falls quickly into indignation. “You are such an asshole,” Harry says, shaking his head. Louis doesn’t refute it.

“I’m serious. Zayn’s baby is now six months old. We’ve missed everything,” he says, slowly leading the way back to the waiting area, because it is entirely likely they have missed the whole thing.

“I can’t believe you. Poured my whole heart out,” Harry grumbles.

Louis pulls him close to his side and Harry goes easily, not quite fitting like he used to with his growth spurt. Louis makes do, pulling idly with his other hand at the thin, rolled bandana hanging like a necklace around Harry’s neck. “But really, Harry. Thank you.”

“Mmhm,” Harry says, still scowling at him playfully. Harry’s eyes catch on Louis’ shirt as he finally shrugs out of his winter jacket and his mouth opens with surprise before it curls into a grin when he recognizes what it is. “Nice shirt.”

“Shut up,” Louis says and refuses to pull the jacket back on. It’s basically his Stones shirt by proxy.

Harry runs his hand like a zipper across his mouth and flicks his eyes up to the ceiling. He still looks pleased as punch.

“What?” Louis snaps.

“Niall owes me five bucks.”

Louis blanches. “You are both assholes.” He shoves Harry away from him, sickened that he could have ever appreciated him to begin with. Harry skips forward, breezing quickly down the hallway on his long legs, and Louis doesn’t make any efforts to match him.

Niall’s sitting alone in the waiting area and looking pissed about it. “Where the fuck have you two been?” he asks.

“Did we miss it?” Harry asks.

“No, you didn’t miss it,” Niall says, rolling his eyes.

“Excellent news! Speaking of good news, you, Niall, my dear friend, owe me five bucks,” Harry says, leaning on Louis’ shoulder and gesturing to Louis’ shirt.

Niall looks at his shirt and immediately scowls. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Where else would he have gotten the shirt from?”

“We both know Tommo is a very capable thief.”

“Do you need me here for this or…?” Louis asks irritably, shrugging Harry off.

“Loosen up. We’re happy for you two,” Harry says.

Louis flicks his eyes over to Niall, waiting for him to make a confirmation or a denial, but Niall makes neither of them. He watches Louis, appraisingly. Louis knows he was Harry’s responsibility, but Liam was Niall’s responsibility and Louis can only begin to wonder what Niall’s advised him to do.

“What’s going on there?” Niall asks.

“I don’t know,” Louis says honestly. He couldn’t define their relationship even if he wanted to.

“What did you do yesterday?” Niall sounds conversational, his confession-inducing bartender tone in full force, but there’s the smallest hint of an edge in his voice. Louis thinks it’s protective. He tries not to be irritated that everyone is so very worried about Louis hurting Liam, like maybe Liam’s incapable of doing anything wrong. But he’s not mad at Liam anymore, he reminds himself. They’re protective of Liam because they pity him, same as Louis.

“We went for a run,” Louis says. Harry snorts with laughter before cutting off abruptly at the sharp look on Louis’ face. “Yeah, I went for a fucking run. And then we went to see Jack.”

“Really,” Niall says, like visiting Jack is far less believable than Louis going for a run. So he must know how Liam felt about Jack too. The entire world seems to have had a better read on Liam than Louis did, apparently, and Louis was his fucking boyfriend.

Louis nods slowly, trying to piece his way through his day. “It helped. We figured some things out. I didn’t… I just didn’t know. Any of that. I wish I had known what Jack was going through. I wish I was here, but I don’t know what I could have done.”

“You couldn’t have done anything,” Harry says gently. “None of us could.”

“I could have tried,” Louis says, frustration building so fast he can’t tame it. “I would have been there every day, pushing at him until he did something. Every day until I fixed it. He should have just waited for me. I wouldn’t have let him do it--”

“It wasn’t your choice,” Niall interrupts brusquely, startling Louis. “You can’t flip a switch so he’d suddenly not want to kill himself.”

“Niall,” Harry pleads. Louis bets Harry’s one of them, those people who are just as happy to say Jack died in the war because it’s somehow nicer that way. The thought of Jack being murdered by someone else is somehow preferable to Jack taking his own life. Louis will never understand it.

Louis is irritated. He knows there’s not a switch, he’s not _naïve_ , but there’s practically a system Louis could put in place. If everyone feels so fucking lucky to be Louis’ friend, then he might as well use that to his advantage. It’s working well enough for Liam so far, even though Liam doesn’t seem nearly so far gone as Jack.

They’ll all get it. Louis knows what he’s doing.

“Hey,” Liam says, his sudden appearance at the door to the waiting area a shock to all three of them. “Did I miss it?” He’s still in his uniform. Louis still doesn’t like it.

“Not yet,” Harry says, putting on a smile that’s fooling absolutely no one.

“Where have you been?” Louis asks.

Liam hesitates and Louis doesn’t like that he has to think about the answer. “There was a meeting at the station, ran late.” He shrugs it off, but he can’t hide his distress. “Sorry.”

Louis misses his enthusiasm. It was just there, a few hours ago, lighting up Liam’s whole face, infecting everyone around him. But now it’s gone, so Louis’ just going to have to coax it back out of him. He grips one of Liam’s wrists and tugs him from the waiting area, not even sparing a backwards glance to Harry and Niall. As far as he’s concerned, their conversation is over.

There’s a little bit of resistance at Liam’s end to start with, but soon enough, he’s plodding after Louis dutifully. Louis pushes him into the first empty room he sees with enough confidence that makes it look like they should be in there, in case there are any prying eyes. It’s an empty examination room, probably, with one of those terrible, cold clinical beds and diagrams of intestines or possibly pregnant women on the walls. Louis doesn’t know, he doesn’t have time to look at the room, he only has time for Liam.

Louis draws closed the blinds covering the small window on the door and then backs Liam into them. Liam goes, surprised as ever when Louis starts to kiss him, but at this point, really, he should be expecting it. Liam moves somewhat responsively against him, like he’s still unsure about what he’s allowed to do. It just makes Louis work harder.

“Zayn’s having a baby,” Louis says as he pulls away just enough to let them breathe.

“You know, I’d heard a rumor about that,” Liam mumbles with a small smile. Louis takes advantage of his kiss-weakened reflexes to reach up and twist his nipple in retaliation. That’ll teach him to be facetious, that’s Louis job. Liam flinches and catches Louis hand too late, the deed is already done. But Liam laces his fingers with Louis’ and holds their hands between their chests. Louis likes that. A lot.

“This place is making me crazy. I think I need like seventeen kids,” Louis says, puncturing his words with kisses to Liam’s jawline like an apology for the pain. “I must be spending too much time with Harry.”

Liam has his free hand on Louis’ shoulder immediately, pulling him away looking more distressed than he should be allowed. Louis wasn’t thinking, he didn’t really mean it like that, _shit_.

“Liam,” Louis starts, but Liam cuts him off.

“I can’t -- I shouldn’t -- we shouldn’t do this.”

Louis doesn’t believe he heard that correctly. He has to stop and process it. “What?”

“We can’t do… whatever it is that we’re doing. It’s a bad idea.” Liam at least has the decency to drop his eyes in shame.

Louis wrenches his hand out of Liam’s grasp, because for all his talk, he still hadn’t let go. “Why the fuck not?"

“The meeting at the station, it was about you,” Liam answers. He mulls over what he says before looking up at him finally. “There are some people who want to turn you in to the army.”

Nausea overwhelms Louis, his worst nightmare just steps away from coming true. He manages to keep it together, but his mind is already spinning into a hundred different plans. He’ll have to run again. Maybe Liam will come with him this time.

“What’d you tell them?” Louis asks. “Did you tell them they can’t?”

The stricken, guilt-ridden look on Liam’s face says everything. Louis doesn’t want to hear the words, but Liam says them anyway. “I didn’t say anything.”

It hurts so much more than Louis had thought it would. “You’re going to let them turn me in?”

“No, of course not," Liam says.

“How are you going to fight them if you don’t say anything?”

“I don’t want to fight them. This is my job. And draft dodging is against the law, so it’s not like they’re actually wrong here.”

Louis blinks at him, incredulous. He wonders how Liam can think so little of him. After everything they’ve been through, after all the work they’ve done in the last few days. None of it meant anything. “So you’re picking them over me. Again.”

“No,” Liam pleads. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Sure as shit seems like it, Liam, but, please, tell me once more how you’re not picking sides. I must not be comprehending this fully.”

“They saw us together. I don’t know how much they know, but. I’m supposed to be promoted for detective--”

“So it’s not them in front of me, it’s your career in front of me.”

“No, Louis, that’s not it at all,” Liam says, stepping forward with an outstretched hand, forcing Louis to recoil.

“Don’t touch me.”

“You’re not _listening_ ,” Liam says, squeezing his eyes shut with frustration. “I can’t even talk to you without you getting defensive, barreling right over me _again_. Have you forgotten or do you just not care?”

“Don’t turn this on me, Liam, not this one,” Louis growls. “Is that why you came here? So you can arrest me again, but do it right this time? Ship me off to be court martialed or tried for treason or whatever fucked up thing the army has in store? Does it make you feel better? Does that feel like justice to you because I left and you didn’t? Because they fucked you up?”

“They didn’t fuck me up,” Liam grits out through his teeth.

“Bullshit,” says Louis. “That’s exactly why you need my help.”

“With what?”

“With everything,” Louis says, casting around in his brain for an example. “You sleep better with me.”

“It was one night,” Liam sputters, “you can’t just leap -- I sleep fine.”

“You’re broken, Liam. You practically asked me for help,” Louis argues. “We were going to make it like it was, when we were both happy. You need me for that.”

“I’m not broken,” Liam says too defensively to be believed.

“Aren’t you?” Louis’ voice drops, finding a cruel edge. He knows Liam’s weakest points, he knows how to get Liam to understand. “You’re not afraid of hurting me?”

“That’s. That’s not fair.”

“I was right, though, wasn’t I? I told you this would happen to you and it fucking did, and now you’re getting your just desserts?”

“How dare you,” Liam thunders and Louis fights the impulse to step back. He's seen too much of angry Liam lately, but this one is on another level. This one looks dangerous. “You don’t know a single fucking thing about me. You don’t know who I am. You don’t know how I feel. You’ve created this -- this image in your head, this twisted image of me as this pathetic, I don’t know, _project_ you need to complete. I’m something that you need to take care of, like I’ve got a broken leg and you can nurse me back to health. It’s not like that. It doesn’t feel like that. It’s not that easy.”

So Liam _does_ think he’s broken, Louis nearly retorts, but it means he’s getting defensive again. He’d just be proving Liam’s point, showing yet again he’s incapable of listening.

“Or like you know what’s best for me,” Liam continues, his eyes shining even though he swipes at them regularly so no tears fall. “You want to control me, Louis, like you did last time. But you can’t pick apart who I am and get rid of all the stuff you don’t like without asking me. This is it for me. I told you I’m dealing with the choices I’ve made and what that’s done to me, and it’s just that. _I’m_ dealing with it.”

Louis imagines this is what going into shock feels like. His chest constricts with humiliation. He wants to clutch at something to make sure he doesn’t sway and fall over, but he doesn’t want Liam to know about it. He stupidly wants to hold onto the shreds of his pride because he has nothing else left to hold onto. Liam has rendered him completely speechless.

“Yeah, I’m fucking scared to hurt you because I did hurt you,” Liam adds, his voice cracking. “I’m scared of so much, is that what you want to hear? I’m scared I’m going to end up like Jack. Sometimes I can’t find myself and it’s hard to come back, and I know I shouldn’t feel that way. I guess that means I’m broken. But I don’t need you to do the work for me. I need to do it myself. I need to have a say.”

“I wasn’t trying to fix you,” Louis says, so little power behind his voice he’d be surprised it even came out at all, his one last sorry attempt to save face. Even if it is a bold-faced lie.

“Weren’t you?” Liam challenges.

Louis looks at him, still soaking in every inch of Liam’s words. Liam has called him on everything, every single thing he’s done wrong, everything that makes him a terrible person.  Louis feels like shit, irredeemable, utterly embarrassed. He can’t help still feeling defensive because he doesn’t know how to deal with being humiliated. An apology sits unspoken on his lips that he knows Liam deserves. He’s already apologized before, but this feels harder. Because Louis consciously hurt Liam this time.

“So what happened yesterday,” Louis prompts, hoping Liam will provide him with some measure of hope. That even after all of this, he doesn’t think Louis is a lost cause.

“I don’t know. But I don’t think -- it's too much, it’s too much too fast, and I need more time,” Liam says, frowning deeply. “I keep forgetting how to say no to you. I can’t do that again.”

“Fine,” Louis says abruptly. “You got it.”

He sidesteps Liam to tug at the door, forcing Liam to jump out of the way to avoid getting hit. He shoots down the hallway for the waiting area, the sounds of Liam’s footsteps echoing behind him to let him know Liam is hot on his trail.

Harry and Niall seem to know everything’s fucked up as soon as they walk in, which doesn’t surprise Louis in the least. Neither of them get to say anything, because Zayn shuffles into the room, red faced and sweaty.

“It’s a boy,” he says weakly, flashing them a tired smile.

Harry erupts into a cheer, bounding over to Zayn and clutching onto him like there’s no tomorrow. Louis tries to take a moment to feel blindingly happy for Zayn because that’s who he’s here for, but he can’t find it in himself.

“Harry, goddamn,” Niall says, pushing himself over so he can tug at Harry’s shirt to pull him away. “Let the man breathe.”

Harry takes a step away for breathing room, but not a big one. “What’s his name?”

“Yaser, for my father,” Zayn says.

“Oh, he’s gonna cry,” Niall says, his eyes alight like he can't wait to laugh at him.

“That was the intention,” Zayn replies, nodding his head with mock solemnity.

"Congratulations, man, I'm so fucking happy for you," Louis says at last, shaking himself from his daze. He's here for Zayn, for once, he censures himself. Don't fuck it up.

"Thanks, Tommo, I'm glad you're here," Zayn says, looking to Louis with a smile that falters almost as soon as it begins. He's looking past Louis, of course, because that's where Liam stands, always behind Louis, always pulling focus.

Louis wants to duck out of the way of the silent conversation they're having over his head, but he's too stubborn to move, too upset to allow himself to be ignored.

"I have to go call my parents," Zayn adds, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "I'll let you know when you can see him. Liam?" He turns without waiting for a response and heads back for Perrie and his family.

Liam follows quickly, shoulders curled defensively, head ducked like he's hiding. Liam looks wrong this way. It's hard to believe someone strong and physically imposing, someone who wears a uniform with authority, can look small and vulnerable.

It's harder to believe Louis makes him this way.

“What did you do?” Niall accuses as soon as Zayn and Liam are out of sight.

“It's always what I've done, isn't it?” Louis says, whirling on him. It _is_ always about what Louis' done, Louis makes it all about himself, Louis makes the most mistakes. It's hard to blame someone else when Louis is making all of the decisions. But just once, Louis would like to hear someone say Liam did something wrong, lied to his face. Louis said he was over it, but the second he feels attacked, he latches onto anything he can use to defend himself.

“Yes,” Niall says. “He only gets that way about you.”

Harry shifts on his feet, eyes on anything but the two of them, making it very clear he wants nothing to do with this fight. Or any fights. Sometimes Louis swears Harry would let someone punch him in the face and then Harry would be the one to apologize.

“Fucking hell, Harry, just go,” Louis cries, waving after where Zayn and Liam had disappeared to.

Harry startles and then looks injured, glancing at Niall, for help or for permission, maybe. Niall nods -- so, permission -- and Harry leaves without a word.

“You’re going to apologize to Harry when I’m done with you,” Niall says.

“I know,” Louis mumbles. He wishes things were nice, he tried his best to make things nice, so Harry wouldn’t have to stress about it, so Harry could live his charmed life. Louis wants to be happy like Harry, but not if that means living in a state of self-imposed naiveté.

“Good. Out with it then.”

“Liam is going to turn me into the fucking army,” Louis says, “is what I did.”

Niall makes a disbelieving face. "No, he's not."

"That's why he was late, they were having a meeting about me at the police station."

Niall transitions quickly from disbelieving to completely unimpressed. "How important do you think you are that they're having meetings about you at a police station? Tommo, come on."

“I’m not lying,” Louis replies heatedly, on the verge of shouting. “It’s fucking Keating, he’s leading some sort of anti-draft dodger mob. I can’t believe he got to Liam, I can’t believe it for a second.”

“That’s because he didn’t get to Liam,” Niall says, putting on an air of patience that lands like condescension. “He would never turn you in, do you know why?”

“Please enlighten me.” Louis gestures graciously in front of him.

“Because Liam loves you too much to risk letting you end up like me,” Niall says. Which is not exactly what Louis was expecting him to say. Louis thinks he isn’t stretching too far by mentally adding an _and Liam_ to the end of his sentence.

“I had it pretty good, actually, didn’t see any action. Mostly worked with civilians in small villages, met a lot of good people, lot of scared people.” Niall looks off, nodding to himself like he’s taking himself back. “I got that. Sitting over here you don’t really consider yourself vulnerable. Marquette isn’t a target, but even then, nobody’s going to come over here and pick a fight, you know? So you don’t get it, really, until you’re there, living their day-to-day, unsure whether or not your home is still gonna be standing at the end of the day. Scared to go to sleep because you can’t protect yourself when you’re not awake.”

Louis gets that too. That’s what he hated so much about the war. The Viet Cong were bullies, but so were the Americans. Neither side of the fight were helping the innocent or fighting for the innocent. And for Liam to go join the bullies, when he’d spent his whole life fighting against them? For Niall and Jack to sign on too? For Harry to even consider it? The very thought boils Louis’ blood even now.

“You try to help them feel at ease, you know? Practically impossible when they’re crying and shouting at you in a language you don’t understand. But eventually you get by. Hand gestures is the key, lots of nodding and smiling. Food helps. Food is universal.” Niall makes a small smile, not for Louis, but for himself, hinting at some sort of unknown, shared relationship between himself, food, and Vietnamese civilians.  

“There was this one village, already sort of torn through before we got there. We're never really sure whether it was us or _them_ who did it, you just kind of hope it was them. We had been there for about half an hour, with a few people gathered in the center of the village, waving our hands, nodding our heads, showing them food. There was less of them than there normally were, but we didn’t really pay much attention to that. Up comes this one lady, she’s got a baby wrapped up in a blanket in her arms, and she’s fiddling with it, and then she sets it down. You hear stories sometimes, civilians asking us to bring their kids to America because they think they’ll have a better life here.”

Niall breaks off, swallowing hard, and Louis thinks he already knows what’s coming. Louis’ heart pounds a little faster in anticipation and fear, even though it’s already happened. He dreads the words coming out of Niall’s mouth, and Niall says them anyway, quickly and without emotion.

“Wasn’t a baby, though. Was an explosive. You know what my last words would have been? _Oh, fuck_.” Niall laughs, wry and hollow. It’s an ugly sound. “Not exactly dignified. She ran and then I ran and it got me but it didn’t get her. Liam’s sister took my leg off. Last time I’d seen her, I was this thirteen year old little shit trying to get into one of her parties with you, and then there she was in the middle of fucking nowhere Vietnam, taking care of me, seeing me through the worst of it.

“I was fine for a while, for a few weeks I didn’t even get it, sitting in a bed, not going anywhere. They said I was in shock and a whole bunch of other stuff. But then it landed on me and I got mad.” His face scrunches and his voice breaks and he looks like Louis has never seen him before. Vicious, ready to spit poison. “Fuck, I got so angry, it took up every inch of me. I hated all of them, every single last person in Vietnam. I was there to protect them, and this was how they repaid me? Took my leg and then some. Wanted revenge for a long time. Like fuck my legs, just strap me to a turret on a tank, I’ll be the best fucking soldier you got, single-handedly win the war.”

Louis feels sickened. Even though the pieces are coming together for him, even though he can see that Niall is trying to prove a point, he’s disgusted by the thought that anyone could feel that way. He can’t imagine Niall that angry, he can’t imagine Niall holding onto a grudge when Niall is supposed to be easy going, Niall is supposed to laugh everything off.

“Even when I came home, I was angry,” Niall continues. “Didn’t show it, though. Anger is ugly, anger is complicated. Harry wouldn’t know what to do with angry, so I let it fester for years, like the doctors left some part of me still rotting away that they couldn’t amputate. Pretended everything was okay when it wasn’t. I let that one person who ruined my life ruin everything for me. I let that one person, who was scared, maybe confused, maybe they were forced to do it, I let my hatred for them grow, and it ruined my life. I didn’t get why she did it and I didn’t care why she did it. I didn’t think about it from her side. I didn’t think about anything other than how angry I was. It was easier that way, but that doesn’t mean it was right.”

“What made you change your mind?” Louis says, feeling like he hasn’t spoken in years. Louis asked for this, when he wished to know who they all were now. He wanted their stories, but he’s not so sure he wants them now. Not when too many of them are this horrifying.

“Liam did,” Niall says and Louis’ eyebrows shoot up even though he probably shouldn’t be surprised. “It was clear he was in pain, but he wasn’t going to let it consume him. He’s been hurt and he confronts it, at least within himself, long enough that he can feel at peace. Because I was toeing the line. Too close to Jack, too close to letting it consume me.”

But Louis has hurt Liam and it does consume him. Louis sees it. Though he wonders if it’s only because Louis is here now, shoving every bit of hurt Liam’s ever felt back in his face. Louis is here dredging up everything he’s said he’s moved on from. Of course Louis is making it about himself, how could he not, but Niall clearly means the war. He means the little box of sadness sitting in Liam’s closet.

Niall is telling him to move on too, so it has to also be about the two of them. Louis can’t pretend Niall hasn’t looked wary every time Liam and Louis manage to interact peacefully.

“What?” Niall says.

Louis jumps, shaking himself from his own thoughts. He must have a face on because Niall’s looking at him for the first time since he started his story and his eyebrows are quirked. “I don’t think I can do that,” Louis admits. “I don’t think I can put it all behind me.”

“Didn’t you do that while you were in Canada?”

“I thought I did, but clearly, it was too close to the surface because it’s all fucking here now,” Louis growls.

“What’s here?”

“Liam’s here and I’m still so mad at him. And it’s you guys, looking at him like he’s some sort of saint who’s never done anything wrong. Meanwhile, I’m the bad guy. I broke his heart by leaving him behind. I know that’s what you all think because you don’t know the whole story.”

“Then tell me the whole story,” Niall says, as though that’s the obvious answer.

It _is_ the obvious answer, Louis admits, but he feels too much like he’s launching a defense for himself that nobody would care to hear or to believe. Louis’ stuck on what Liam’s said of him, wavering too much between accepting it as the truth and denying it, arguing his case and trying to find someone who will be on his side. They’re all on Liam’s side, and that’s the real problem.

“He was supposed to come with me,” Louis hisses. “We made plans to go together, he told me he was going to go with me. He lied to my face. He held my hand and kissed me and told me he’d see me in the morning. He never came. He left _me_.”

“He was scared. He was stupid,” Zayn says out of nowhere. Louis whips around to find him leaning against the wall behind them, his arms crossed. He wonders how long Zayn has been standing there, listening. “It was eating him up from the inside, anyone could see it on his face. I asked him to tell you, but you knew Liam then. He was always going to be too scared to tell you.”

“You knew,” Louis says dumbly. It’s not a question. “He told you he wasn’t going to come with me.”

“I looked at his face that night, I knew he wasn’t going,” Zayn says, still quiet. There’s an implied _and you should have known too_ in his words that Louis resents.

“A heads up would have been nice,” Louis snaps. It’s convenient for Zayn to tell him this here, but Louis isn’t afraid to shout in a hospital. Louis flicks his eyes over to Niall and he doesn’t look surprised either.

“What would you have done if you had known beforehand?” Niall asks, far too reasonably.

What would Louis have done? Probably scream at Liam, cry and throw a fit until they both said things they could never take back, worse than what they did end up saying to each other. They would have had more time to spend finding new ways to hurt each other.

Or maybe Liam would have come with him because Louis would have worn him down so much he’d have forgotten how to say no. Liam would spent years feeling like he wasn’t doing what he wanted to. He would have spent years resenting Louis for taking away his agency. Either way, Liam would have ended up broken, only if Liam had gone with him, it would have been Louis’ fault.

“More importantly,” Niall adds. “What are you going to do now?”

Louis’ defensiveness crumbles again and he’s exhausted. His self-worth crashes straight to the ground and everything he’s known to be true about himself seems to be a lie. He by no means ever thought he was perfect, but he didn’t think he was this severely fucked. If he listens to his friends’ united front, then Louis has every reason to hate himself.

“You guys know how he feels about me? Our relationship and everything? I really fucked him up, didn’t I?” Louis asks, looking between them, challenging them for the truth. They don’t say anything and they don’t have to. “I thought so.”

They must hate him. They must think he’s cruel and controlling. Niall already thinks Louis is self-important. He wishes they would just say so, so he can do exactly what he wants to do now. So he has every reason to leave. He doesn’t want them to lie to him anymore, he doesn’t want them to be afraid of making him angry. If they’re just his friends because they don’t want to upset him, then that’s worse than not being his friend at all.

“Do you guys feel that way about me? That I think I know better than you?” Louis asks. “That I’m trying to change you?”

“No, Tommo,” Zayn says. “But you and Liam were always different.”

“Something horrible,” Louis says, even though that’s not enough to convey how he feels about their relationship. It’s tainted now, he can’t remember any of the good parts. If they even had any good parts.

“No,” Niall says finally. “Did he tell you it was horrible?”

“He didn’t have to,” Louis says darkly.

“For fuck’s sake, Tommo, you should be talking to him about this.”

“Liam’s said enough,” Louis mumbles. “I know what he wants now, and I’m going to respect that. For once.”

He knows what he has to do. He knows what Liam wants from him, what they all want from him. He walks away. Zayn and Niall don’t follow him or call after him.

He pulls the first nurse aside that he can find, a woman who leans over a chart outside one of the delivery rooms. “Excuse me,” he tells her. “I’m looking for a doctor. He’s, uh.” Louis hesitates. Fuck, he doesn’t even know Dan’s last name. “His first name is Dan, he’s dating Jay Tomlinson, who also works here.”

The nurse gives him a look, half confusion and half irritation. “You shouldn’t be back here.”

“He’s my ride,” Louis adds. “Please.”

“I’ll page him,” she says after considering him a moment. “Stay here.”

Louis paces the corridor, resisting the urge to peek through the blinds on the windows of the line of rooms. Dan joins him soon enough, apologizing for some reason Louis doesn’t understand but Louis doesn’t have the energy to argue with him. After he agrees to take Louis home, he doesn’t say anything until they’re in the car.

“Are you okay?” Dan asks with hesitance. Louis knows he must look as terrible as he feels. He just doesn’t know if their relationship is there yet, that Louis can spill his whole heart to him driving home from the hospital. He’s not sure any of his relationships are there yet.

“What’s your last name?” Louis asks instead.

“Oh. It’s Deakin,” he says, sounding appropriately baffled.

They drive on in silence, which is Louis’ preference. Louis focuses on the snow on the ground and Christmas lights on houses that zip by, anything to keep him from obsessing about how quickly his entire life went to shit tonight. How he started the day so blindingly happy, only to realize it was an illusion. That all the progress he thought he had made this week was tenuous, waiting for even the smallest amount of pressure to snap and crumble.

The silence doesn’t last too long, which is well enough, because Louis can’t distract himself when left with his own thoughts.

“Listen, we don’t know each other very well, Louis, but I just want to let you know that I love your family more than anything in the world.” He glances over to smile at Louis for a brief moment before returning his eyes to the road. “I’m really happy you’ve come home, and I look forward to spending some more time getting to know you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Louis says and feels bad that he didn’t put more heart in it. He suspects Dan’s a good guy because he trusts his family and he trusts his mom.

Dan talks about Perrie’s delivery, which is equal parts interesting and revolting, depending on which part he’s talking about. He says Zayn was more of a mess than Perrie, which makes sense. There’s apparently something about Perrie having already gone through the process once before made her calmer and Zayn crazier. He does this impression of Zayn’s eyes popping that has Louis cracking a small smile as they pull into their driveway.

Louis’ mom is waiting for them alone in the kitchen, the rest of the girls probably having gone up to their rooms. Louis realizes he doesn’t even know what time it is. She nurses a cup of tea and is already dressed in her robe and pajamas. She looks comfortable, stress-free, and Louis envies her.

“My boys,” she says with a sleepy smile on her face.

“Hey, ma,” Louis says and kisses her cheek.

“It’s a boy,” Dan announces. “Seven pounds, eight ounces.”

“That’s wonderful,” she says. “Everything went all right?”

Louis nods even though his real answer is no. She sees it, but mercifully doesn’t ask him. He’s about to shuffle into the living room to make up the couch to sleep, when Dan clears his throat.

“I had this whole speech planned for dinner tonight. It was going to be really beautiful, tears everywhere from everyone, mostly me,” Dan says, laughing a little. “But I don’t want to keep you up any longer and I can’t go to sleep without knowing the answer to my question.”

“Okay,” Jay says, her smile widening. She already knows what’s coming, that little shit, because so does Louis, and he watches the scene in something close to shock.

“Jay, will you marry me?” he asks, and then pauses. “Oh, wait just a minute.” He clutches at the kitchen table and starts to sink to his knees.

“Get up, you old fool,” she says, grabbing at him and pulling him forward into a kiss Louis feels like he should look away from. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Something cracks open in Louis’ chest and everything horrible he’s been holding inside him comes flooding out, bringing tears and shuddering breath with it. He chokes out a congratulations before he leaves them to go hide in the bathroom under the guise of taking a shower, not even looking to their faces for a response.

They fell in love and now they get to create a life together. They don’t hate each other. They understand each other. They take care of each other. His family doesn’t need him anymore, hasn’t needed them for quite some time, because they’ve got Dan, who will love them and provide for them like the father they’ve been missing for years. Louis should be happy, but he’s too full of envy to stop feeling selfish.

Louis doesn’t get to have this life. He doesn’t get to live happily with Liam and have their own family with him and take care of him and provide for him. Louis doesn’t get to prove his worth or prove he’s dependable or prove his love.

Louis doesn’t get to rebuild a home here with his family because he left this home seven years ago. He abandoned this home seven years ago because he was stubborn and scared and cowardly and angry. He had thought the issue was he was too changed to come home, but the truth is he doesn’t deserve to come home.

\--


	16. December 17, 1976

_(The Sound of Silence - Simon and Garfunkel, After the Gold Rush - Neil Young)_

* * *

_December 17, 1976_

Liam excels with a routine. He likes to keep busy -- he _has_ to keep busy -- and having a dependably busy day keeps him as close to calm as he can get.

When he was a kid, he’d watch his father rise with dawn, dress in the same suit, go to the same factory and do the same job for ten hours, come home, eat dinner, shout at the news, and go to bed by nine to do the same thing the following day. When he was a kid, he thought a repetitive life was terrifying. But after four years of war, waking up every morning with a set of orders and never knowing if he was going to make it to the end of the day alive, Liam is done with surprises. He finds himself doing more paperwork than anything close to crime solving, and there’s nothing less surprising than paperwork. He is comforted by the familiar.

Liam gets up for work every day, except Wednesdays and Sundays, well before the sun rises because he hasn’t had a long, decent night’s sleep in about eight years. He gets a dozen donuts every morning after his run because the donut shop is the only thing open in time for the early shift. He takes a fifteen minute long hot shower to ease the tension in his muscles, stretching out the tightness in his right shoulder, carefully massaging around his old wound like he’s been taught. He puts on the same uniform and drives his old, reliable pickup truck to the station.

He has a long day ahead of him, a double shift to cover for Ed, who’s on his honeymoon until Christmas. Liam always volunteers for the double shifts when he can to spare the other officers who have families to go home to.

He leaves a maple glazed donut on the reception desk for Barbara, who is likely up getting her morning coffee from the break room. He distributes the rest of the donuts on a first come-first serve basis to the officers milling around in the shift change at seven am, making sure to save the one with sprinkles for Harry.

“Good morning, Nick,” Liam says as he enters the dispatcher’s office.

“Don’t touch,” Nick says from where he is buried under the table, likely poking at the equipment. Nick always says this and Liam is never about to touch.

“Harry in?” Liam asks because usually Harry arrives when Liam does, not to be prompt but to socialize plenty before settling in for the day.

“I have no idea where that boy is,” Nick says, climbing out from underneath the table and dusting his hands off. “I have considered putting a bell around his neck, for what good it will do.”

Liam nods and stands next to the dispatch desk. Nick stares at him with his eyes narrowed. Nick is one of the few people Liam knows who’s taller than Harry, but like Harry, he doesn’t wear his height intimidatingly. If anything, both of them tend to slouch, which Liam gets on Harry about often because Harry is always complaining of back aches. Liam doesn’t get on Nick about it, because he’s still a little scared of Nick.

“Are you just going to stand there until Harry gets here?”

Liam nods and holds up the donut as an excuse.

“You could leave it.”

Nick has been eyeing the donut in Liam’s hand a little too much already. “I don’t trust you.”

“Fair enough,” Nick says and settles back into his chair as soon as the radio starts squawking up at him.

Ten minutes later, Liam is no longer willing to be late beginning his paperwork, but Harry comes bustling into the room, chanting, “Sorry sorry sorry” to the entire room before specifically turning his sorry to Liam. He dives for the donut in Liam’s hand and stuffs at least half of it in his mouth at once.

“What’s doing?” Liam asks.

Harry answers in gibberish around his donut before chewing quickly and swallowing heavily. “I was on the phone with my mom.”

“Is she all right?”

“She was talking for ages, all in a fit because tom--” Harry says before cutting himself off. He shifts a little, pulling at his lips, before finishing, “--matoes. Tomatoes.”

“Tomatoes?” Liam says, kind of wondering if this is a start to a joke. It’s not, though.

“It’s, um. It’s a long story, I’ll tell you after work, thanks for the donut,” Harry mumbles quickly, too quick for his usual meandering drawl.

Harry looks really upset, Liam is beginning to suspect someone died. It’s not like Harry to be closed off about how he feels, Harry just gives everything to everyone. Even Nick quirks an eyebrow at Harry before he backs away suddenly to the filing cabinet on the other side of the room.

“Are _you_ all right?” Liam asks.

“I’m fine,” Harry lies, ducking his eyes away from Liam.

Liam can tell he doesn't want to talk about it. He appreciates that Harry gives him space and waits for Liam to approach him when he needs it, so he returns the favor. He bids them goodbye and continues with his morning routine.

He fills out his mountain of paperwork until eleven when he takes his coat and goes to collect Harry for lunch. Except Harry isn't in the dispatcher's office and nobody knows where he is. Liam frowns but takes it in stride, figuring he's already gone to meet Niall, and walks to Horan's anyway, his collar turned up to fight the cold. The sidewalks are shoveled and salted so Liam can walk briskly without risking slipping on ice.  

They're never open by eleven, but Niall usually leaves the door open for him. It's locked this morning. Liam knocks and Greg answers, cracking the door only enough to show his face like he's wary of who might be calling at this hour. Even when he sees it's Liam, Greg doesn't move the door.

"Hey, Greg, is Niall in?"

Greg shakes his head.

"Is he running late? Do you expect him?"

Greg shakes his head again and waves before closing the door behind him.

Liam starts to feel like he's being avoided. He can't help but think the worst, especially after Harry's squirrelly behavior earlier. He considers going to Paddy's on his own, but he's lost interest in it. He picks up a sandwich at the deli and eats it at his desk. Harry’s hiding something from him and he's pulled Niall in and it's far bigger than Anne's tomatoes.

His routine is already knocked off kilter for the day and he feels unfocused as he goes out for his patrol. As he cruises his familiar path around the west side of Marquette, he knows his eyes aren't sharp like they're supposed to be. Harry's voice pops up on the scanner occasionally, reporting methodically as he normally does, and Liam wants to pick up his radio and ask him what's going on.

 _Liam to Harry, what did I do wrong, over_ , he does not say.

The most exciting thing to happen on his beat is an argument with an older woman parked in front of a fire hydrant at the grocery store. He attempts to get her to move her car a simple thirty feet down the road, where there is still abundant parking, but she loses it. She lets him know she’s just going to drive home without getting what she needs _if you’re going to be so difficult about it_ , mumbling about taking the time to drive all the way out here. Suddenly Liam is the bad guy and his patience wears thin.

When Liam returns to the office, Harry's door is closed. Liam goes to knock on it, but the captain catches his attention before he makes it.

“Payne, may I have a word with you in my office?” Captain Higgins has one tone of voice, gruff, which always makes Liam unsure if he's in trouble when the captain calls him alone into his office. Last time it was to wish him a happy birthday and give him a very expensive pen, one that Liam is still too scared to use because he thinks he'll lose it.

“Yes, sir,” he says and follows him to the far end of the station. He waits until the captain gestures for him to sit down.

“You’ve been on the force for about two years now,” the captain says.

It doesn’t sound like a question, but Liam confirms anyway, “Yes, sir.”

“In this time, you have proven yourself an exceptional officer. Prompt, efficient, sharp. You’ve built a good relationship with the community through outreach and volunteering.”

“Thank you, sir,” Liam says, trying not to feel like there’s a _but_ coming soon.

Liam knows he has the lowest number of arrests in the precinct, but that’s probably a product of him taking the early shift. Not much crime happens at eight in the morning. He prefers to coach people out of their first minor offenses -- like the lady in front of the fire hydrant this afternoon -- instead of automatically giving citations. He finds he gets a better response that way, when he can get people to change their behavior instead of spitefully continuing breaking the law. He gets laughed at a lot for that, gets called a pushover. He’s not a pushover, though -- when he encounters those who have made a second offense, he issues a citation immediately to accompany his lecture. He’s tough and relentless when he needs to be, but the situation doesn’t always call for that.

He’s made more than his fair share of scared teenagers cry in shame and embarrassment, which, although not his intention, is a fairly effective law enforcement technique for kids. He knows this technique would have been particularly effective for himself in his wild and crazy days of mischief and vandalism and trespassing. He’s been referred to in the station as “the only cop who is disappointed in people who break the law.”

His captain’s face betrays no traces of a smile or a scowl, just the frankness he uses in his morning debriefings. “I have spoken with the chief and we feel it’s time to promote you to detective,” he says with none of the excitement that kind of statement should have.

Liam is too floored to move or think for a minute before he bubbles over with excitement. Captain Higgins is still talking, outlining the process Liam has to go through, something about training and tests, and Liam nods dumbly up at him.

Liam thanks him about seven times before the captain kicks him out of the office with a stack of paperwork. Liam’s first instinct is to tell someone. Harry is closest, but Harry isn’t talking to him. He calls Zayn instead, who predictably doesn’t answer, so he leaves a message asking him to call back at the station. He wants someone to be proud of him right now.

Liam buries himself in his paperwork for hours, carefully combing through every inch of the information relating to his promotion. When he gets halfway through studying the second of seventeen manuals he found in the records room, a hand rests high on his back. He flinches harder than he wants to, his heart racing fast until he can remind himself to calm down.

He looks up expecting Harry, but it’s Officer Devine, his desk partner for the night shift. “I don’t think you’ve blinked in three hours, Payne. Maybe take a break?” he says gently.

Liam chuckles at himself so Devine’s face softens away from worry. He has these moments where he spaces out or focuses too hard, and he cuts the entire world out. He used to have to run to space out, but it happens more often when he’s still for too long. People seem to get a little worried about him when he does this, which makes him eager to break the tension as soon as possible.

Liam’s eyes flick to the clock on the wall, it’s well after seven and almost thirteen of his sixteen hours of work are gone. “Dinner time, I guess,” Liam says and Devine nods, satisfied.

It's snowing lightly, not enough to stick or cause problems other than making Liam a little wetter than he wants to be on his walk to Paddy's. He loves his town after dark, softly lit by streetlamps decorated with garland for the season and the Christmas lights that line rooftops. He thinks if he ever left again, he could get homesick this time. He could miss the life he’s built here.

“Congratulations!” Paddy thunders as soon as Liam walks in, rounding the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room. Every time Liam sees him, he looks a little rounder and a little happier. Retirement has done right by Paddy.

“On what?” Liam asks as Paddy walks him to his usual booth in the back of the diner.

“On what,” Paddy scoffs. “No secrets can be kept from me, _detective_.”

Liam flushes red, pleased. He's never met a more gossip-prone bunch than the Marquette Police Department and Liam hasn’t even _told_ anyone. “Not a detective yet. I have to pass the test first.”

Paddy gives Liam a look Liam gets a lot: lips pursed, eyes narrowed, head cocked with impatience. Liam had once thought the look was coined by Louis, but even with people who have never met Louis, the _Stop saying dumb things, Liam_ look proves to be fairly universal. He kind of likes it -- he definitely liked it when Louis would do it -- because it never seems mean-spirited. Liam likes the look because it means people are familiar with him, he’s known for things, people expect things of him. It means people are paying attention to him.

“Dinner’s on me,” Paddy says, ruffling up Liam’s hair and shuffling away from him without waiting to hear Liam politely decline.

“Hey, freeloader,” Eleanor says, sliding into the other end of the booth in the next second, the only waitress at Paddy’s who dares work with such familiarity.

She wouldn’t leave the house after Jack died, so Liam put in a call to Paddy. She still doesn’t leave the house, except to come here, mostly, but that’s still something. Liam wants to help her so much, he wants to do better helping her than he did with Jack. He couldn’t fix Jack because Jack didn’t want to be fixed, but Liam couldn’t do _nothing_ so he tried his best until Jack was no longer willing to try at all. He doesn’t want the same thing to happen to Eleanor.

“Don’t alienate your best customer,” Liam says.

“Best non-paying customer,” Eleanor counters.

“You got me.” Liam nods his agreement. “Would you please get your best non-paying customer a cherry coke and a cobb salad?”

She groans. They have this argument every day, Liam going to a burger place and never eating a burger. “C’mon, Liam, live a little.”

“What do you think that _cherry_ coke is for?” Liam asks, a smile threatening to turn up his lips. He’s already thinking about ordering something different, something a little crazy, like maybe just four slices of pie, but he just wants to be persuaded. “And I expect three cherries, no less.”

“You can order your usual, but I’m not bringing it to you,” she threatens and pulls herself up from the booth. “I will bring you seventeen saltine crackers before I bring you a cobb salad.”

Liam sits quietly, wishing he had brought one of the manuals with him. This is a foreign feeling; he never eats alone at Paddy’s. He never sits with his back to the door, and without Harry or Niall’s faces to look at, Liam sees the whole room full of people enjoying their meals together and Liam feels alone. Either Paddy or Eleanor drop by every couple of minutes or so to check in with him, and he thinks he feels the pity in their soft voices.

Eleanor brings him a large plate of onion rings and a burger with three patties and more cheese than Liam has probably ever seen. Liam tries to eat every single inch he can.

“Missed you for lunch today,” Paddy says on one of his check-ins. Liam is about to make his excuses when Paddy follows up, “Horan was in, though, had a guy with him I didn’t know.”

Liam’s eyebrows shoot up. It’s not that Niall isn’t allowed to have other friends, it’s just that Paddy’s is _their_ place, his and Niall’s and Harry’s, and they’ve never shared. “Oh,” Liam says, small. “I wonder who it was.”

“Word has it he’s caused a little stir in town. Draft dodger,” Paddy says, conspiratorially.

Liam’s stomach plummets, because there’s only been one dodger in all of Marquette and he can’t come back, he’s not welcome back. Liam won’t let him come back.

“Name’s Tommo, I think,” Paddy says, confirming Liam’s thoughts.

“I have to go, excuse me,” Liam says abruptly and bolts for the door, ignoring Paddy’s calls from behind him.

Everything clicks into place for Liam. That’s where Harry and Niall have been today, keeping secrets from Liam because Louis is back in town. Keeping secrets from Liam because they’ve chosen Louis’ side. Liam can only imagine what Louis’ told them, if he’s spoken about Liam with the same vitriol he had in their last phone call.

Liam feels stupid and small. He doesn’t want to think about whether his friends abandoned him as soon as Louis came back into town because they’d always belonged to Louis first. But they lied to him, all day, Harry openly so, and if they did so because Louis asked them to, Liam won’t forgive.

This is the reason, Liam reminds himself, why he never wanted to engage. This is the reason he didn’t want Louis knocking on his door on his birthday and why he didn’t want Tom to come into his tent and why he was fine being on his own. Being alone never hurt as much as being let down or being left behind.

He wants to call Harry and make him explain, but he also doesn’t want to hear Harry tell him all the things he fears are true.

There’s a message on his desk from the receptionist, a call Liam missed maybe while he was out to dinner or when he was in the records room or when he was too caught up in reading to be aware of the world around him. It’s from Zayn. _Sorry I missed you. Just got a call from Harry, says Tommo is back in town? Might go over to Jay’s party._

That’s where they’re all at now, Louis’ house, having a fucking _party_ like Louis didn’t abandon them, like everybody hasn’t spent the last seven years wondering if they were ever going to see Louis again. Like he hasn’t found Jay crying alone in the kitchen before, thinking of all the terrible things that could happen to Louis because she’s not there to protect him. He held her and told her there was no way Louis wasn’t okay, Louis was too clever to get into real trouble. Louis was too stubborn to die.

Liam grabs the keys to his squad car and thunders back out of the station just as quick as he’d entered. He drives the familiar route to Doncaster Way. He’s not even sure what he’s going to do when he gets there. Collectively take the entire party by the shoulders and shake them until they see better? Shout, _look what he’s done to you,_ until they understand?

Nobody is mad at Louis for leaving the way he did, not like the way Liam is mad, because they don’t understand. Part of that is Liam’s fault because he never told anyone the whole story. Nobody knows about the weeks of bullying he underwent when Louis was planning their trip to Canada. Liam would mutter, “Maybe I don’t want to go,” and Louis would snap, “Don’t be stupid, Liam,” and the conversation would be over.

On the day he left, when Jay found the note on Louis' bedside table and called Liam back in tears, Liam hadn't said anything but a hundred apologies. Jay didn't ask him if he knew Louis was going to leave, she just cried and said it wasn't fair that both of them were leaving her.

"I thought if he went with you, he would be safe," she had said. "Because I knew you'd never let anything happen to him and I knew he'd keep you safe."

That was a nice thought, but the army doesn't work that way. They'd have been shipped off to separate units based on need, without giving a shit about who they were to each other or where they'd come from. He remembers Jack telling him, in one of those rare days where he'd actually talk to Liam, that their recruiter swore up and down he and Niall could serve together, and they believed him.

They thought it would be easier if they served with a familiar face, someone who knew them and understood them. Liam thinks it would be worse. He didn't like the idea of anyone he knew from before watching him grow into a soldier. He knows what he is and what he's done and he's ashamed by it. Louis wouldn't have kept him safe, he'd have been repulsed by Liam.

He will be repulsed by Liam, he thinks as he pulls right in front of Jay’s house, parking to block the cars in her driveway. He shakes with anger as he kills the engine and he throws himself from the cruiser. He walks up to the house, his mind still not made up on his course of action. He doesn’t want to embarrass Jay in front of what looks like half the town, and he doesn’t want the girls to get upset.

He stands half in the hallway, surveying the crowd of people, a little part of him hoping everybody was just mistaken or hoping that Louis had slipped away back to where he came from when nobody was looking.

“Oh, god, Liam,” Harry says from beside him, sounding horrified. When Liam looks over at him, he looks as horrified and caught as he sounds. _Good_ , Liam does not say.

“I can explain,” he starts again, but Liam looks away from him. He doesn’t really want to hear it.

He sees Louis at last and Liam can no longer doubt that he’s actually there. Louis looks like he’s been through hell and back: swallow, thin, ragged, like a vagabond with his shaggy hair and beard. Or maybe he just looks older and Liam wants him to look like he hasn’t lived well without his family and friends. His eyes are hard, not playful like they used to be, and everything else about him looks tense, from the way he grips a beer, to his defensive posture, to the way he scans the room critically. He doesn’t look comfortable, which pleases Liam in some strange way.

Louis’ eyes finally find Liam and an unnatural stillness overcomes him. It’s only a matter of seconds before Louis determines how he wants this to go, and Liam doesn’t want him to decide. Liam approaches him, his mind set. He wants to punish Louis, take from him what he dodged to keep: his freedom.

He thinks he hears Harry calling out to him, but he doesn’t care. Nothing else in the room matters but Louis.

Liam grips his bicep, pulling him toward the door, and Louis goes without a fight. Liam almost wishes he would fight, be the Tommo he remembers so Liam can show him that he won’t fall into that same trap again. He’s not going to give Louis what he wants simply because it’s easier to live with him that way.

“What’s going on?” Louis finally rasps as soon as Liam drags him outside. God, he sounds exactly the same.

“I can’t arrest you in front of your mother,” Liam says gruffly. This doesn’t seem like it should be the first conversation they have after seven years, but Liam doesn’t want to give him any more of himself. Louis doesn’t deserve anything else.

“What?” Louis asks, sounding confused and somewhat unimpressed.

Liam turns Louis abruptly, pressing him face first against the side of the house because he’s not taking this threat seriously. Louis lands with a huff as Liam presses his hands together behind his back. He reaches behind to unhook his handcuffs with one hand, still carefully holding Louis down. He seems less unimpressed now and mostly completely confused. Liam takes advantage of his confusion-causing paralysis to slip handcuffs around his wrist.

“What the fuck?” Louis spits, tugging at the cuffs too late. There’s the fight Liam has been waiting for.

He jerks Louis away from his house and towards his cruiser.

“Louis Tomlinson, you have the right to remain silent,” Liam intones professionally, not letting any emotion betray his voice. He doesn’t know how he feels anyway, he’s not happy or upset. But he knows this is what he wants to do.

“You son of a bitch,” Louis says, like he’s in awe this is even happening to him. Like he never thought Liam was capable.

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” Liam wrenches the back door open and forces Louis in with a hand on head to guide him like he’s done so many times before. He treats Louis like he’s no different than any other stranger Liam has arrested because Louis is a stranger to him.

“You have the right to an attorney,” he continues, by the book. Everything about this is routine. “If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

“Fuck you,” Louis snarls, his eyes lit with disgust.

“I’ll put you down for yes,” Liam says, allowing himself just a small amount of satisfaction, and slams the car door in Louis' face.

Liam isn’t even sure why he cares. As he’s driving to the station with an absolutely silent Louis in the back seat, Liam questions everything. Why does he even care Louis has come back? He doesn’t want Louis to be part of his life anymore, he’s spent seven years without him with varying degrees of success. They spent two years of their lives together, that’s all, and it didn’t mean anything, and Liam would do himself a real disservice if he never got over it.

In the end, Liam just doesn’t trust him, even though he doesn’t know him now, because he knows what Louis is capable of.

And on some level, Liam wants to hurt Louis as much as Louis hurt him. That scares Liam, but not enough to stop what he’s started.

Liam opens the door for Louis once he pulls up to the station, but Louis slides out of the car anyway, his eyes burning with anger, still not defiance. Liam hauls him into the police station, shaking his head at the night receptionist as she gapes at Liam. He passes directly by booking, pushes Louis straight into holding to uncuff him before opening a cell door. Louis steps into it so willingly Liam almost gets irritable. It’s not punishment if Louis is complicit.

This is where Liam could finish this whole thing. He could say something to Louis, lock the cell behind them and make Louis explain everything he’s done, hold him accountable for every lie. Liam aches looking at him, this stranger that he used to love too much staring back at him with anger on every inch of his face. Liam doesn’t know what to say to him, so he doesn’t say anything, he slams the cell door behind him.

He spins a ridiculous web with whoever he needs to to explain away why he hasn’t booked Louis, why he isn’t placing a file for Louis on top of his stack of paperwork to do the following morning. Liam is trusted here, the officers have his back, so if Liam says Louis needs a night in a cell, they give Louis a night in a cell.

Liam can’t focus on his paperwork after that, he’s exhausted. Every inch of energy is drained from him after having spent so long keyed up about Louis. He still has time left in his shift, which he wastes staring at the same paragraph until the words no longer look like English. He throws himself onto the couch in the break room, figuring he could catch a short nap before he shuffles home. He blinks his eyes closed.

A deep voice gently calling his name a few times is the first thing Liam hears when he wakes up. He bolts awake, too defensive and wired for how tired he is, and stares up at the mass of hair that’s calling his name before he focuses in on Harry’s face. Harry shifts back from him, wide-eyed, and Liam rests back into the couch a little to look calmer than he feels.

At some point in the night, someone covered Liam with a blanket once they realized he appeared to be here to stay. Liam squints at the clock behind Harry’s head. It’s 6.50 and Liam doesn’t have his dozen donuts.

“About last night,” Harry starts. He pulls at his lip and waits, like he wants Liam to give him the go-ahead.

 _It’s fine_ , Liam almost says but doesn’t. Because it’s not fine.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Harry continues, pushing the words out faster than he normally speaks. “I panicked and it was rude.”

“Why?” Liam blurts.

“Why what?” Harry frowns a little, shifting forward to Liam, wobbling slightly where he squats.

“Why didn’t you just say something?”

“I just figured you would be mad,” Harry says.

“I am mad. Now it's just at both of you, not one of you,” Liam says plaintively. He shifts back into the couch, folding his arms over his stomach, feeling exposed even as he hides under the blanket.

“I'm sorry, really,” Harry says, his eyes wide as they plead for forgiveness. “It's just... Tommo. You know?”

Harry's best friend since birth probably, forever attached at the hip, and then there was the matter of that horrifying few weeks in the beginning where Liam thought they were dating each other. Of course Harry chooses Louis over Liam, he would choose Louis every time. Liam can’t get in the way of that, even if Louis doesn’t deserve it.

“I get it,” Liam says, dropping his eyes and picking at the blanket still laying over his lap.

“I’m not choosing sides, none of us are, there aren’t sides,” Harry says like he can read Liam’s mind.

Liam shakes his head, trying to figure out how to explain to Harry how he feels. He does that as often as he can, he tries to explain what’s going on in his head instead of bottling it up, letting his negative feelings fester until they harm him. He only rarely succeeds in putting his thoughts to words, but at least he’s trying now.

“I thought I had done something wrong. I thought all day, just, I had said something or I had done something to make you want to avoid me or lie to me. I just had this terrible thought that maybe you didn’t want to be my friend anymore,” Liam admits, feeling like a pouting little kid even as he says it.

Harry’s eyes widen with hurt and shock. “No, no. Liam, why would you think that? Why would you ever think that?”

“I don’t know,” Liam says with a shrug. He doesn’t know why he does this. He does this every time and he hates it. “You were avoiding me and I didn’t know why and it was just the easiest to assume the worst.”

Harry holds his hand out for Liam, waits for Liam to make the first move now that he knows that’s what Liam needs to do, and Liam puts his hand in Harry’s so Harry feels better. Liam also feels a little better, but he wants Harry to feel comfortable.

“Don’t do that,” Harry says, like it’s just that simple. It’s not. “I’m sorry, I just, I didn’t know how to tell you or when I should tell you. And I shouldn’t have lied to you, but I swear, Liam, you never have a reason to think we’re not friends. That we’re not family, actually. All right?”

“All right,” Liam mumbles. He knows this is stupid of him, he's had nine years of Harry's friendship. He's wrong to doubt Harry when Harry hasn't done anything wrong before. He understands where Harry was coming from, being wary of Liam's potential reaction, especially given Liam's actual reaction was something quite absurd in and of itself.

“All right?” Harry squeezes his hand. “It’s just hard because I don’t really know what happened between you two. You won’t talk about it, Louis hasn’t said anything. So we just worry about you.”

“I know,” Liam says and doesn’t contribute anything else. He lets go of Harry’s hand and throws the blanket off of him. Liam doesn’t need to be worried about, it’s Louis that they have to look out for.

“I mean, you left with each other last night, so I wasn’t sure. Are you guys okay?”

“No,” Liam says shortly. He doesn’t want them to be okay. Harry recoils slightly, like he doesn’t want to but he can’t catch himself in time. Liam feels like the bad guy all over again. Harry shouldn’t get caught in the middle of their fight, no one should. “We’re okay, Harry, you and me. All right?”

“All right,” Harry repeats, pressing his lips into a tight smile. “Wait,” Harry adds, glancing down at Liam’s clothing, no doubt putting together that he’s still in his wrinkled uniform from the day before, “did you sleep here last night?”

“Um. Yes,” Liam mumbles, like why else would Liam be passed out on the break room couch ten minutes before his shift starts. He presses at a crease in his pants, for all it’s worth.

Harry frowns like he does when he doesn’t understand something and it takes him a few seconds to work out what’s wrong. “Then where’s Louis?”

To his credit, Harry doesn’t get angry at Liam when he tells him what happened. He keeps pressing his lips together and keeps frowning, so Liam knows he’s unhappy, but he’s not going to say anything about it. Liam isn’t in the mood to hear anything about it, so he appreciates Harry’s discretion.

“I’m going to go, um, free him, I guess,” Harry says, drawing up to his full height.

“I didn’t book him or anything,” Liam says. “I didn’t want him to get in trouble. I was just…”

Liam isn’t really sure how he wants to finish that sentence. _I wanted control over his life_ , Liam does not say. _I wanted him to respect me, or, no, to respect what I could do to him. I wanted him to understand the consequences of his actions._

“I get it,” Harry says in a way that suggests to Liam he probably doesn’t.

Harry leaves to retrieve Louis and Liam pretends not to watch them through the sliver of a window on the door of the break room. He’s not watching to make sure it’s safe to leave the break room because he’s not scared of Louis. He’s not afraid of encountering Louis because Liam hasn’t done anything wrong.

Liam tells himself this as he watches Harry and Louis argue briefly in front of the bullpen before Louis takes off for the reception area without waiting for Harry.

Liam tells himself he wants independence, he wants to prove once and for all, now that Louis is finally here, that he can live his life without Louis’ approval or permission. That everything in Liam’s life doesn’t revolve around Louis. That he doesn’t actually need closure in order to put nine years of love and anxiety to rest.

He tells himself this, but he’s wrong.

\--


	17. December 24, 1976

_(Feeling Good - Nina Simone)_

* * *

_December 24, 1976_

 

Louis wakes up as a twenty-six year old. He stares at the living room ceiling and reflects on that. He’s twenty-six and he hasn’t got a goddamn thing to show for it.

He’s exhausted, but too anxious to get back to sleep. That’s just as well, it’s a little after seven, which means he conservatively has an hour before the rest of his family stirs awake for the day. An hour to pack his things and leave.

He made his decision last night when he had crept down the stairs after he was sure his mom and Dan had gone to bed for the night. Being in this place hurts too much. Now everything reminds him of people he's hurt and things he's done wrong.

He just can't shake the feeling they'd all be better off without him.

 _Happy birthday to me_ , he thinks to himself just before he throws himself off the couch. Louis creeps up the stairs and grabs the last of his toiletries from the bathroom and his duffle bag from where his mom stored it at the bottom of the linen closet.

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” Felicite says quietly, nearly giving Louis a heart attack. He clutches at his chest, turning to where she leans against her door frame with her arms crossed. She looks furious.

“The least you can do is crack a smile,” Louis says dryly. “You’re getting your wish.”

“It's not my wish,” she responds, throwing him a vicious look. It's like she can't believe Louis would accuse her of such a thing. She has a funny way of showing she cares. “Are you out of your mind? You just got back.”

“I honestly think it's just better for everyone if I go,” Louis says.

“You're a coward. You're disgusting.”

“I am not a coward,” Louis snaps, before stifling himself. If he wakes everyone up, he'll never get to leave. “I'm giving everybody what they want. For once. Tell me you weren't doing fine without me. Tell me it wasn't better.”

They stare at each other, each too stubborn to concede their points of view. The longer she waits, the more Louis is convinced he's right. His family is going to be fine, really. They’ve always had Ma. Lottie’s clearly stepped up and been a better oldest sibling than Louis could have ever hoped to be. And now they’ve got Dan for good. Tomlinsons adapt as necessary. They adapted when Louis left and when their dad left and they’re all clearly better for it.

"It wasn't better," she says finally, but it's too little too late. It's all the confirmation he needs.

“I thought so.” Louis purses his lips and descends the stairs, his head ducked to protect him from looking at the pictures on the wall showing him all the reasons he'd stay. His actions are too familiar.

He shoves as much of his clothing and belongings as he can from where he had piled it up next to the couch last night. He moves swiftly through the living room to the hallway closet to throw his coat on, as though at any second Felicite could throw up an alarm and he would have to answer to his whole family.

“This is so stupid. You can’t leave,” Felicite says, like her word is final, as she finally thumps down the stairs.

“Yeah? Watch me,” Louis snaps right back. He doesn't want her pity or her half-hearted fight for him to stay. He can’t stand to be condescended to. He moves for the door, thankful she doesn't try to stand in his way.

“Don’t come back,” she shouts at his back, just as the door shuts. He knows.

He takes off at a sprint, running almost as fast as he did the other day with Liam, his canvas duffle thumping uncomfortably against his thigh. He didn’t run last time he left home; he walked, calm and assured, to where he had scheduled the taxi to pick him up in front of the high school to take him to the bus station.

He should have known, really, when he woke up alone -- and hideously hungover -- that Liam had never planned to join him. The two of them had been saving up for the taxi and bus dates for weeks, Liam providing most of it, asking Louis to hold onto it for safe keeping. Liam had promised to meet him at the bus station and Louis didn't question it. He trusted Liam and if Liam felt like he had to make his trip alone, so be it.

Looking back on it, Louis realizes that rationalization was idiotic. But he just didn't have any reason to suspect Liam wasn't coming with him.

Louis runs now knowing no one is going to join him. He's free to go anywhere and do anything he wants. If Harry thinks it's so easy for Louis to live without them, to replace him, then there's no reason Louis shouldn't prove him right.

He doesn't know where he's going this time, which scares him. He had planned out as much as he could beforehand, writing for information and sneaking short long distance phone calls when he could. But this time he has no plan, no answers at all, and it should feel exhilarating. He has the entire world ahead of him, full of people who don't know he's a fugitive. He could go to the bus station and pick the furthest destination on the board he can afford and just go there. He could hitch a ride with the first person who let him and head wherever they were headed, no matter what. He could be anyone or no one and nobody would give a shit.

He should feel exhilarated, but he doesn't.

Eventually he has to stop running because his legs are burning up and his lungs struggle to gulp in the frigid air. He clutches at a street lamp at the end of the main drag.

He had breezed past Horan's and the hardware store where he got caught stealing a shovel and the toy store where he spent his summers working. Just as the sun starts to rise, he soaks in his last view of all the things that remind him of home. Then he turns to move on and doesn't look back.

He had cried at the bus station and he had cried the first two hours of his trip to Sarnia, only stopping when he realized he was being watched. He had closed his eyes and attempted to sleep, curled up as small as he could in his seat. He cries now too, his wet cheeks stinging when the wind blows because he’s not wiping them as fast as he should be.

He retraces his path out of town to the highway, figuring he’ll hitch to save as much money as possible. He has to start planning the things he can and taking control of the situation, so he can put himself at ease.

He’s clicking things slowly into place as he crunches through the snow on the side of the road when he hears a police siren chirp behind him.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Louis hisses, shifting his duffle and refusing to even acknowledge the sound and what it means for him.

There’s the sound of a car shuddering off and a door slamming. Then there’s Liam’s voice calling, “Louis, stop.”

He shakes his head even though he’s sure Liam can’t tell. He walks as though if he keeps pressing forwards, Liam will go away and he won’t have to deal with any of it. Of course Liam found him. Of _fucking_ course he did and Louis is livid.

Liam’s hand suddenly grips Louis’ bicep tightly. “Wait, Louis,” Liam demands, effectively pulling him to a stop.

“That hurts,” Louis says and Liam lets go of his arm immediately, hand jerking back like Louis’ burned him. Because he’s scared of hurting Louis. It’s cruel to use that knowledge against Liam so Louis can get what he wants and Louis hates himself for it.

“I’m sorry,” Liam mumbles quickly.

“What can you possibly want from me, Liam?” Louis asks desperately, his voice still a little weak from crying.

Liam stares at him so long Louis starts to feel uncomfortable.

He finally speaks. “What are you running from?”

“Nothing,” Louis lies. The truth is he’s running to leave everything behind and Liam knows it. “Are you coming to arrest me? I’m already leaving. I’m giving everyone what they want.”

Liam shakes his head slowly before shifting away from Louis and pressing his hands to his eyes like he’s exasperated by Louis. If he thinks dealing with Louis is such a chore, he shouldn’t have come to find him to begin with. He should have just let Louis disappear.

“Why did I even bother coming?” Liam asks, more to himself than Louis, it seems. He turns back to Louis with an accusation. “You don’t even want to be here.”

“No, I want to be here. More than anything,” Louis says, which is true. He wants to be with the people he loves and live the life he missed while he was away, but he doesn’t get to have that. He’s accepted it and he just wishes Liam would too.

“Then why are you leaving?”

Louis blinks at him. He knows very well why Louis is leaving and playing dumb about it is only making Louis more irritable. “Because I don’t deserve to be here.”

“Who the hell told you that?”

“You did. Fizz did. Niall did. Everyone did,” Louis argues, his hands flying like the intensity of his gesticulations are going to prove his point better. “You were going to let them _arrest me_.”

“I was never going to let them arrest you,” Liam says. He looks genuinely offended at the implication, which is just rich. “How the hell could you think that?”

“Because you didn’t stand up for me. Because you told me it was your job. Because you’re embarrassed that we were together. Because you broke up with me _again_ by choosing them over me. But it’s fine, I get it. It’d be wrong to give me preferential treatment.”

Liam barks a mirthless, incredulous laugh. “Jesus, Louis, I just needed a second to process everything. It was all happening so fast and you didn’t let me explain.”

“Of course I didn’t let you explain,” Louis says sourly. “That’s what I do. I’m running around fucking up everyone’s lives now, just like I’ve always been. You have all made it abundantly clear I don’t deserve you. I get that now.”

“You take everything as a personal criticism.”

“It _is_ a personal criticism. You’re telling me I don’t respect who you are and what you want. I force you to do things you don’t want. I’m selfish. I’m not sure how much more personal it can get.”

Liam pauses like he’s considering that, which Louis is glad for. They are personal criticisms, even if Louis does deserve them. Liam has to know where he’s coming from. He has to understand that Louis is under attack right now, by himself and everyone he knows. He’s fighting a battle within and it’s fucking painful.

“I can’t apologize for telling you how I feel,” Liam says carefully.

“I don’t want you to apologize. I understand why you told me and I’m glad you did. I needed to know.”

“Then why won’t you stay?”

“Because it’s what I want,” Louis says, “and I can’t let you live the rest of your life doing what I want if it’s not what you want. I can’t do that to you again.”

“You’re letting me choose what I want by making my choice for me? That makes no sense.”

“It’s better if I leave. It’s better for you this way, trust me.”

“Doesn’t it get exhausting? You’re always playing the martyr,” Liam says, running his hands through his hair with an exasperated expression.

“Well, that’s just who I am, Liam, if you don’t like it --”

“It doesn’t have to be who you are,” Liam insists. “It’s not self-sacrificing to run away from your problems, it’s self-sacrificing to stay and _fix_ them.”

“You’re gonna fix me, Liam?” The irony is unreal at this point. It’s like the blind leading the blind, or the broken fixing the broken. They’re a fucked up pair, but Louis doesn’t think they deserve each other.

“You need to fix yourself,” Liam says firmly. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t help. Or that Harry and Niall and Zayn and your family won’t help.”

Louis only realizes he’s crying again because the wind on his face starts to hurt a little more than usual. Everything stings, from his cheeks to his toes, because he feels utterly exposed.

“I need help too. I’ve done so many things wrong and I’ve let myself get hurt because I thought saying something about it was too hard,” Liam says. “And I wasn’t lying when I said I was scared. But you could be there to help me figure it out. I need to do the work, but that doesn’t mean I should do it alone. And I would be honored to be there for you.”

He wants to shout to the world and ask it what to do because he doesn’t fucking know anymore. He still has no idea what to do and it still isn’t exhilarating. But the world isn’t going to answer him, so Louis does the next best thing. He asks Liam.

“What do I do?”

Liam considers him for a long moment, like he’s pondering the consequences of every possible path Louis could take when Louis knows there’s only one path Liam wants him to take.

“I’m not going to beg you to stay,” Liam responds slowly, like he’s still working out how he wants to answer. “I’m not going to tell you what to do because it needs to be your own choice.”

Louis nods, shifting his weight but not committing to turning from his path just yet. He respects that from Liam. Asking Liam to give him the answer is just another way of avoiding the consequences of his own actions.

“I’m sorry for the things I’ve said and done,” Louis says. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel worthless. It’s worth mentioning again and again and I’ll keep doing it until I’ve done right by you.”

He takes a step towards Liam and reaches out to touch Liam’s forearm, like just the smallest connection will give him some sort of strength. Liam doesn’t shy away and that’s enough.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, Liam, but I’ve only ever wanted the best for you.”

“I know you do. That’s why I love you,” Liam says and Louis believes him. He’s so relieved to believe him. “You just picked a really terrible way of showing it.” Louis believes that too. “I’m going home. Are you coming with me?”

He turns and heads for the police cruiser without waiting to see if Louis is going to follow him. It’s not even a question. Louis has to follow him. He gets into the front seat this time.

They drive home in silence because there’s too much already said between them. Liam has to be exhausted because Louis sure is. They make the familiar drive back to Louis’ house like they’ve done many times in the past. Like they’ll hopefully do many times in the future. It’s the future, Louis keeps reminding himself. He has a future and it’s here. He thinks he could find that exhilarating.

Liam only talks once he’s taken his familiar parking place by the mailbox. “If Felicite calls me again and tells me you left, I’m not coming back for you.” There’s a little hint of an edge to his voice that makes it not quite a threat.

“I won’t leave. I promise.”

“Your word means nothing at this point. Just don’t leave.”

That’s fair. Louis is about to promise again before stopping himself. He simply nods and lets himself out of the squad car without a goodbye or any parting word. He glances back at Liam before he lets himself into his house, just for that extra boost of strength. Liam waves a little in return like he knows what Louis’ doing.

His mom is already awake and crying on Dan’s shoulder by the time Louis walks into the living room. Four pairs of worried and stressed eyes turn to him in unison.

“I don’t know whether to hit you or hug you, honestly,” she sobs at him.

“I could go for a hug,” Louis says, his voice small and penitent, “if you’re asking for my preference.”

She detaches herself from Dan and clings to Louis, alternating between gripping him fiercely and slapping at the back of his head. He deserves both.

Lottie looks severely disappointed in Louis and Felicite is crying. He doesn't know which is worse. Louis really can’t afford to start crying again. He’s not entirely certain he has any spare feelings left.

He apologizes to the room at large as soon as the hug is complete. He asks them not to cry, which only makes them cry harder. Felicite eeks out an apology between hitched breaths.

“Felicite, hey,” Louis says, shuffling towards her. “It’s okay. Don’t apologize for a second.”

“I didn't mean what I said,” she says, hiccupping through her words. “I'm just so mad you left and you never said anything. I wanted you to feel as mad as I was. I wanted you to know how it felt.”

Louis does the same damn thing. He's too vindictive for his own good, maybe all of them are. But he can’t fault her for it.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You were right. I was a coward to leave. Thank you for calling Liam.”

“You are stupid, though,” she says, her eyes shining but at least there’s a small smile growing.

“Yes, very stupid,” he agrees. He’s so very, very stupid sometimes.

He apologizes again and again, to every one of his family members, even the twins who weren’t aware there was anything even wrong, until they hopefully begin to believe him. He doesn’t just apologize for leaving this time. He apologizes for leaving seven years ago, though he wouldn’t change his decision if he had to make it all over again. He would have handled it better. He would have given them all the closure they deserved.

They spend a quiet day at home, never once leaving what feels like a safe space. Louis feels too contrite to enjoy his own birthday. They never ask him why he left again, but he’s not sure he’ll be ready to tell them today. But maybe someday.

When he takes one look at the amount of food his mom and Lottie are cooking for dinner, anxiety kickstarts inside of him.

“Ma, not again,” Louis moans. The whole town can’t come over because the whole town needs to pretend he isn’t here. He’s spent all day trying not to worry about being turned in, hoping Liam’s finding some way to work magic down at the police station so Louis can actually make good on his promise to stay.

“It’s your birthday and we’re celebrating,” she says. The last thing in the world he wants or deserves is to be celebrated, really, but he’s not sure he should argue this point with her. “It’s just family. Don’t worry.”

And like that, the doorbell rings. His mom must also be magic.

Harry pushes Niall into the living room, both of them having already shed their coats in the hallway. Niall has two presents on his lap, one carefully wrapped with a bow, the other in a paper bag from the grocery store. It’s not hard to figure out which present belongs to which person.

Louis is even more surprised when Zayn walks in after them, though his coat remains on.

“Happy birthday. Perrie and the baby are sleeping,” he explains. “You have exactly one hour of my time before I go back home.”

“Thank you for coming,” Louis says.

Harry looks furious in a way Louis has never seen. He latches onto Louis' wrist and drags him away back into the hallway, away from his sisters, which means he could cause a scene. Harry’s not exactly the type to cause a scene, so Louis has no idea what to expect. He throws a last chance pleading look to Zayn and Niall, who look unmoved.

“You were going to leave. Again,” Harry says, frowning at him with his arms folded. “Without telling anyone. Again.”

“Harry,” Louis starts.

“No, shut up,” Harry says firmly. Louis blanches. A scene it is. “Seven years ago, you left all of us and said nothing, we didn't even get to say goodbye. Do you remember the last thing I said to you?”

“No.”

“Neither do I. But it wasn't goodbye or I love you or safe travels or you're an idiot or anything that provided peace because you didn't trust us,” Harry huffs. “When you came back to us last week, though, I wanted that to erase everything bad that I had felt. All those times I was mad at you didn't matter because at least you came back.”

Louis sighs. He knows he should let Harry speak his piece, but honestly some amount of slack would be a godsend right now. Just until tomorrow. “Liam already covered this lecture, really, Harry, I'm very sorry.”

“You're going to sit through it again. Because none of that mattered apparently,” Harry snaps, in an irritable tone Louis hasn’t heard from him. He should never have given Harry a reason to use it. “Your mom called us and Niall and I were sitting in our apartment all morning thinking he's gone again. He must not care. He must not love us anymore. This must be easy for him.”

“It’s not easy. It's too hard,” Louis argues. “It was even harder to come back to you. We were all strangers.”

“Of course it's hard. It's seven years of radio silence. I don't even know who you are anymore.”

That stings because it’s true. None of them know each other anymore, so Harry gets it. It’s almost a relief to know they were all feeling the same way Louis was, that he wasn’t just imagining how different all of their lives were.

“But I was willing to find out what had changed and accept that. We all were,” Harry continues. “It's hard but we were going to make it work. Because we love you.”

“It just felt like you didn’t need me anymore,” Louis mumbles.

“Of course we need you, you horse's ass,” Niall says from behind them. He and Zayn stand watching in the archway. “You're the Tommo. You put us together. We made do without you, but we never wanted to.”

“We let you get away with a lot of shit since you’ve been back because you were gone so long,” Zayn says. “We didn’t ask you to explain yourself. We put the past behind us. Like Harry said, we didn’t think it mattered because you came back. But honestly, Louis? It was a really fucking awful thing to do to us. And then you did it again.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says for maybe the eightieth time that day.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” Niall says. “We just needed to tell you what we were feeling.”

He looks between the three of them. No apologies, no excuses, no promises. His actions will speak for him, starting first with his acceptance. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Harry says. He smiles at last and throws his arm around Louis' shoulder. He tugs Louis back into the living room, the others trailing along behind them.

Zayn settles onto the couch next to Felicite. Harry grabs a spot on the floor in front of him, leaning back against his legs. Felicite offers her seat to Niall but he waves it off. Louis looks for traces of irritation in Niall's face, in case he thinks he's being condescended to, but they're not there.

“Everywhere I go I always have a seat,” Niall says with a smile, spreading his arms.

Zayn is pressed for details about the new addition to his family. He talks easily, but it's not hard to notice he keeps checking the clock. For a moment Louis feels like he's keeping Zayn here, away from his family, because Zayn thinks he has to be here to keep Louis from running away again. But that's selfish of him. Zayn's here because he wants to be, same as the rest of them. Same as Louis.

He's got almost every member of his family in one room, and he should be content, but he's not. There's a missing piece. Louis excuses himself from the room, moving outside like the act of waiting for Liam will summon him.

He lights a cigarette while he waits, because sitting and doing nothing makes him anxious. He doesn't know what he's done to deserve this dinner or Liam's presence at it. But Liam promised. He was going to be here to help.

He thinks he hears the old truck coming, or maybe that's wishful thinking. He's played nice all day, nice and modest and repentant. He needs a break, someone who's going to look at him like he isn't a flight risk. He deserves it, truly. He's already made a failed escape attempt and he's going to spend the next decade paying for it. He just wishes things could go back to the way it was, but he guesses that's what got him into this mess in the first place.

Liam's truck does end up pulling down Doncaster, right up to park by Louis' mailbox. He's out of his uniform, thankfully. Louis doesn't think he could handle that version of him. He is wearing a pressed shirt and a tie, always far better dressed than the rest of them. It's because Liam thinks these dinners are important.

Louis stubs out his cigarette but doesn't rise to greet him. He's hoping Liam gets the hint and he does. Liam settles into the cold ground next to him, pulling his coat right around him.

“Happy birthday,” Liam says.

“Merry Christmas,” Louis answers. He doesn't wish Liam a happy anniversary.

“I didn’t get you a present,” Liam says, “but in my defense, I didn’t really want to.”

Louis snorts. “In that case, you can leave.”

“Well then, see you later,” Liam says lightly and doesn’t move.

Louis remembers back when he thought Liam would make this night easier. He doesn’t know what he was expecting beyond awkward silence. He shouldn’t have stubbed out his cigarette, so at least his hands would be occupied while his mind struggled to think of something to say. But then he thinks he doesn’t really want to say anything at all. He wants to close his eyes and lean against Liam’s shoulder and pretend like they’re okay for just a little while. That everything’s okay for just a little while.

Liam is braver than Louis for breaking the silence.

“I talked to my captain about you,” Liam says at last. Louis goes stock still waiting for the other shoe to drop. “He was livid but he listened. I think you’re going to be okay.”

Louis exhales deeply, putting his face in his hands as he feels the weight of the last big thing sitting on him lift. Niall was right, he should have trusted Liam to protect him. “I’m safe?” Louis asks softly, looking up at him.

“For a while. Just keep your head down,” Liam answers. He passes a sardonic look at Louis. “I know that'll be a problem for you, but you'll just have to try your best.”

Louis gives him a sarcastic laugh and narrows his eyes until Liam cracks a smile because that’s what Liam wants him to do. Louis wants to pretend too, like they’re not talking about Louis’ fate. But as soon as the relief finishes flooding through him, a different kind of stress replaces it.

“Is it going to be a problem for your promotion?”

Liam thinks about it for a moment, but he doesn’t look worried. “I don’t know. But I’ll do what I have to.”

“Don’t get in trouble,” Louis pleads. The last thing he needs is one more thing to feel guilty about.  “Don’t put me in front of your career. Don’t just do what’s best for me.”

“It’s what’s best for me too. It’s what’s best for everyone.”

“I’m not worth it. Not if you have to throw away everything you’ve been working for. Please.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Liam says, firm but with a little bit of petulance. Louis doesn’t know if he means leaving to avoid being arrested or leaving to be thrown in military jail. At this point, Louis isn’t sure which option he’d pick.

But it doesn’t matter what Liam wants or what Louis wants. It’s all out of their hands. The consequences of Louis’ actions are catching up to him and if he’s learned anything from Liam these past couple of days, it’s that Louis can’t run from them anymore.

Liam unrelentingly holds Louis’ gaze. There’s fire in his eyes, the kind of fire that makes Louis think Liam can do anything in the world. Louis can throw his hands up and say _I am who I am_ and   _it is what it is_ , and Liam will be there to tell him _it doesn’t have to be_. He can change anything because he refuses to let things stay as they are. Liam never used to think that way, but now he does and Louis loves him for it.

“It’s fucking freezing,” Louis observes because there’s really nothing reasonable he can say to Liam after that.  

Liam’s eyebrows pop up, unimpressed. “Well, you’re the one waiting out here for me.”

“I was not waiting for you,” Louis argues immediately. Liam has him pegged too easy, the least Louis can do is put up a fight. Save some of his dignity.

“You were absolutely waiting for me.”

“No, I _wasn’t_.”

“Okay. No, you weren’t,” Liam says, holding his hands up in submission. He still looks very pleased with himself.

Louis rises and holds a hand out to drag Liam up. Liam grips his hand firmly and pulls himself up, though he’s stronger than Louis and ends up doing most of the work himself. Louis may have been looking for an excuse to hold his hand for a little while, get some sort of contact in before they aren’t alone anymore. He doesn’t even care if Liam sees through it.

“Family dinner?” Louis asks, gesturing at his door.

“Am I invited?” Liam asks with a smile. That’s fair, Louis did technically attempt to uninvite him just days ago.

“You’re always invited,” Louis assures him. He leans over and presses a kiss to Liam’s cheek, a soft and simple kiss, a promise of change to come.

Louis’ mom has crowded everyone around the one kitchen table, even Zayn, though in the cramped place settings Louis can tell he doesn’t have a plate. His time must almost be up, but Louis is glad he’s here now. All of the pieces are fitted together finally.

Louis squeezes himself in between his mom and Liam, anxiously awaiting the check in he knows she’s going to make all of them sit through even though it isn’t Sunday.

She makes her usual comments about how happy she is her whole family is gathered for dinner, and Louis can’t help but wholeheartedly agree. She and Dan announce their engagement, sending the room into a flurry of congratulations and happy tears. Lottie cheats and repeats her check in from Sunday, but nobody calls her on it. Felicite gets the twins talking about Santa Claus and the three of them count that as their turns. Zayn talks about his new baby and Harry also talks about Zayn’s new baby. Niall says he’s glad Louis’ finally got his head out of his ass.

Louis can’t swear or make obscene gestures in front of his sisters, but he thinks the glare he gives Niall is doing enough work for him to get the point across. It’s Liam’s turn, though, and Louis doesn’t want to detract from that any longer. When he pulls his focus from Niall to Liam, he finds Liam is already looking at him. Louis looks back expectantly. He wants to know how Liam is doing, what’s going on in his head.

“I’ve got everything I need,” Liam says, his eyes starting to water at the edges. “My family,” he says, nodding at Jay and the girls, “and these four boys right there.” He simply nods before giving everyone a deprecating smile, like he’s a little embarrassed to have admitted it and a little embarrassed to get all emotional about it. Louis can’t help but wholeheartedly agree with him.

Louis doesn’t know what else to say, because Liam’s said it all, really, except that he’s glad he’s home. He means it. He’s an idiot if he thinks he can live the rest of his life without his family, every single person at this tiny kitchen table. They really are all he needs.

He hasn’t earned their trust and respect yet, but he will. He hasn’t earned his place at home yet, but he will. He hasn’t earned Liam’s love back, but he will. He can’t expect things to change back to the way they used to be, but he can start over. He has a fresh start back home, and that feels exhilarating.

Louis has a plan. He’s going to stay right here to see it through.

\----

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! If you need me, I'm [here](http://wickershire.tumblr.com/post/113539085994/title-war-is-over-if-you-want-it-author%22). :D  
> And if, for some reason, you are interested in reading me shout about this fic (as if 114k wasn't enough), here's [my tag](http://wickershire.tumblr.com/tagged/war+is+over) for the fic.


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